


Can't Go On Without You

by AgentCoop



Category: Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Angst, Artist Steve Rogers, Assassination Attempt(s), Broken Bones, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Character Death, Childhood Friends, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Gun Violence, Hate Crimes, Hurt Bucky Barnes, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mutual Pining, Oblivious Steve Rogers, Oral Sex, Political Campaigns, Slow Burn, Stucky Big Bang 2016, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-25
Updated: 2016-08-02
Packaged: 2018-07-18 01:28:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 48,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7293913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgentCoop/pseuds/AgentCoop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>23 year old Bucky Barnes is back in Washington D.C. for after an extended and forced hiatus away. His father, Republican Senator George Barnes, has begun his presidential campaign and Bucky has been hired on as the office manager—a job that he is fully prepared to execute to his highest ability so as to gather the requisite recommendation letters that will allow him to get the hell out of the God forsaken city and out from under the impossibly high standards of his family.</p>
<p>            Becoming enmeshed in the family politics and drama is not part of his plan.<br/>Seeing Steve Rogers again for the first time in five years is absolutely not part of his plan.<br/>Having all of his past dredged up and forced down his unwilling throat, remembering everything that happened, remembering the reason he left,<br/>remembering Steven Grant Rogers—</p>
<p>the plan is shattering into a million pieces around him and there is almost nothing he can do to salvage it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. All The Pretty Girls

**Author's Note:**

> My fic for the [Stucky Big Bang](http://thestuckylibrary.tumblr.com/post/136429151602/authors-and-artists-welcome-to-the-stucky-big)! Thank you so much to [Lasenby_Heathcote](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Lasenby_Heathcote/works) for her amazing and wonderful beta job on this! I don't think I ever would have finished without her help. 
> 
> Also, a huge thank you to the fantastic artist who is working on this story! Seriously--go check out her Tumblr--you will NOT be sorry: [WilliamKaplan](http://williamkaplan.tumblr.com/)
> 
> This is my first ever completed 'long' fic and it took a lot of blood, sweat and literally tears to get through. Thank you so much in advance for reading--I truly appreciate it!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited to include GORGEOUS artwork by [WilliamKaplan](http://williamkaplan.tumblr.com/)

_The dream started much as it always did. There was a cloying smell of menthol and turpentine, enough to make him feel slightly giddy, enough to start down that inexorable path of losing control. He couldn’t see, but he could feel, and the touch on his damp skin brought to mind blonde, and blue, and a familiar tightening deep in his chest, like he couldn’t get enough air, or just didn’t want to disrupt the perfection of the moment with something as mundane as breath, and he could still remember that blue, because such is the way of dreams. It continued fluidly on. Suddenly there was a room, and he could see now, of course he could, he only had to remember to open his eyes and breathe after all, and there was a window, and he stared off into the distance but the ghost of a touch still lingered on his left collarbone, the whisper of something more than ordinary,_

       The sharp staccato of the cell phone alarm punctured the dream, cracking it into a million pieces that shattered indifferently on the cold wood of the floor next to him. Bucky groaned as he picked up the vile thing and slid the alarm function to _off_.

       5:15 am.

       There was nothing for it. It certainly ‘wouldn’t do’ to show up late for the first day of work for the dear family. He threw the sheets off and swung his legs over the bed frame, while glancing over at the closet. Clothing. Right. Pants. Shirt. Tie. Color? The phone started ringing. Bucky gave a quick look at the caller ID, then put it on speakerphone while he jumped up to start rifling through his drawers.

       “What Andrew?

       "Hey, Bucky! Just making sure you’re up. Remember we have that meeting at 6:30 this morning to go over go over the incoming interns and get everyone up to speed.”

        Bucky felt the beginnings of irritation start prickling behind his eyes as he shut the top drawer of the dresser and moved over towards the closet.

       “Please don’t call me that. And yes, I’m up and ready for the _glorious day_. I don’t need a guard detail just to make sure I get to work on time.” He paused for a moment in front of his ties, then settled on a nondescript dark blue.

       “Sorry man. But you should know, there is another James on staff—the tech manager—so, well, you know, it might just be easier?”

        Bucky sighed and ran his hand through his hair. Jesus Christ. He could leave the state for five years, graduate with highest honors from one of the top poli-sci programs in the country, stop all contact with his domineering, nepotistic family and try his might to drop off the face of the planet, but he couldn’t seem to shake that damned childhood nickname. Andrew might be an asshole of an older brother, but he was a sincere asshole. He’d probably already printed the name in all of the day’s handouts.

       “Hey? You alive there?”

       “Yes. Sorry. I’ll be there at 6:30, ok? I’m up, everything is fine, but if I am going to actually catch the metro out of here on time you might want to get off the phone and let me put on pants. Probably wouldn’t be great for the family image for me to show up with my dick hanging out.”

       “Oh, yeah—of course man, sure thing. See you soon.”

       Bucky threw the phone onto the countertop in the bathroom then turned on the shower, stripped down and jumped in.

 

* * *

       

       Rebecca Barnes turned her head to the right, then frowned as she looked in the mirror. Pearl earrings. They just wouldn’t do. She was supposed to be the rebel of the family for Christ’s sake, not wearing pearls like a God damned catholic school girl. She tucked a long strand of chestnut hair behind her ear and sniffed. Where the fuck was Steve? He was supposed to have been here by 6:15 to help her primp (re: fawn over her obviously unattainable beauty.) Granted, she wasn’t due in the office until 7:00, and the ‘office’ was in the library of her parents multi-million dollar row house—literally 20 steps from the room she was currently living in—but seriously, looking the part of the ‘rebel-artist, but still far above your status, youngest daughter of the next President of the United States, who might give you the time of day if you ask nicely and quite possibly exchange some massive favors, but otherwise is a completely unattainable beauty, princess, bitch,’ took some time and energy. There was a knock on the door to her suite. She gave the earrings one last touch, grimaced in the mirror, then walked across the room and opened the door.

       “Morning Bex!” A horribly awake and wired Andrew stood leaning in her doorframe grinning from ear to ear. Rebecca rolled her eyes at the sight.

       “Hey big brother. Aren’t you just a giant ray of sunshine?” Andrew didn’t even have the presence of mind to look remotely abashed.

       “Eh, two cups of coffee in already today. Just trying to make sure everything runs as smoothly as possible. Mom has spent the last hour and a half rethinking every possible item of clothing she could ever have the chance of wearing and bitching out the entire wardrobe staff for not predicting every one of her completely unreasonable and ever changing requests. And Dad is running on no sleep, has already made two of his aides burst into tears this morning, and is currently in the middle quite possibly the fifty-seventh rewrite of his announcement speech in the last twelve hours with the speechwriters. And now I am checking up on my baby sister to make sure she doesn’t begin the day inciting rebellion amongst all of the new fresh faced and innocent little interns. It’s a great day to be a Barnes.” He winked at her. “Oh, also, I just got off the phone with Bucky an hour ago. He should be here any minute.”

       Rebecca slowly raised her right hand to twirl unconsciously at the pearl in her ear. She looked up at Andrew.

       “Have you…seen him yet?”

        Andrew's grin faltered. "No. As far as I know, he just got into town yesterday afternoon. I know he’s renting some apartment out in Capitol Heights? He sounded good.”

        Rebecca found herself wrinkling her nose in disgust, and tried to stop.

       “Ugghh. Capitol Heights? He’s going to get himself mugged before he even shows up here. Why didn’t he just come back home? There is plenty of space here…or I’m sure Mom and Dad would have fronted the money for him to live in town somewhere if he was really that desperate to remain _independent_ and all…”

       “I know Bex,” Andrew cut in, "I think that…well…honestly, I can't even believe he took the job they offered. I mean, I know Mom and Dad were keeping tabs on him out in Ann Arbor. I know he pulled it together and everything right? So maybe he realized that the easiest way for him to get his own career going and get out of the family for good was to just suck it up and use this as a stepping stone?" He looked down and sighed before continuing. "Between you and me, I just hope he keeps his shit together while out here. We need to look like a unified family, at least in front of the media. I don't have a clue why Dad felt the need to pull him back into all of this. Paternal guilt? Whatever his reasoning, this campaign doesn't stand a chance if we don't have the entire unit in full support of our moral compass to back it up. And I just don't trust that he isn't going to have another complete mental breakdown.”

        Rebecca groaned. "You are always SO full of drama. I for one am just glad to have both my brothers here to protect my virtue and innocence," she batted her eyelashes outrageously. "Besides, he was always way more fun to party with than you." She barged her way past Andrew and made her way to the stairs. “See you at the intern meeting _dahling._ ”

        “Bex,” Andrew called out. She turned briefly. “Seriously. You were fifteen when he left. How much partying were you honestly up to?” He frowned for a moment. “Just please don’t encourage the whole ‘wild’ thing with him. You know how he gets.”

        "Oh, stop worrying. You'll turn old and gray. You see how well that worked out for dad.” She turned back and saw a young man reaching the top of the stairs. “Steve! Finally! Way to be punctual as always.”

       “Sorry Rebecca—I overslept…and, well,” the tall blonde nodded politely towards Andrew, then extended his hand out to lead her down to the office, “just had a long night. Trying to get everything set up for the art show installment this week, and...just stress.”

        Rebecca stopped and stared at Steve for a moment. He looked exhausted. She abruptly leaned down to him on the staircase and reached forward for a quick kiss, their eyes locking in that brief moment of contact, then pulled away and descended down the staircase.

       “Are you going to be able to stay awake for the dinner tonight? It’s probably going to be complete chaos—there are some journalists who are supposed to be there, and my mother will be running around controlling every tiny detail and all that jazz. I mean—obviously for her it will probably mostly center the prodigal son’s return, but I have to be at the dinner table with the rest of the family for the inevitable reporter questions looking all _perfect Republican princess_ and I could really use the support of my _perfect republican boyfriend_ during.”

       She was grinning as she spoke—she might try to act the rebel against the family while away at college, but truth be told, she adored the attention the Barnes name garnered. The preparations leading up to next week’s announcement had been going on for months, constant phone calls, secretive e-mails, meetings with the family and their campaign staff. Her father was finally announcing his run for the presidency this Saturday on the steps of the World War II Memorial to what would hopefully be a completely full National Mall Park. The Barnes family had been an important family name in Washington for decades now—deceased relatives representing America heroically in nearly every war, from nearly every Armed Forces Organization. What better way to announce a Republican candidacy then from the very heart of the town that George Barnes, Senator of the state of Virginia, had grown up in? But looking past all that, finally, this evening, at an exquisitely arranged semi-private family dinner with the occasional hotshot journalist thrown in to document, the media was going to have their chance at Rebecca Barnes, in all her 21 years of glory— gorgeous, perfect, and with the most beautiful piece of eye candy the world had ever seen on her arm. Steve Rogers. Artist extraordinaire. Avid supporter and lifelong fan of George Barnes. Ideal match for the future President of the United States’ youngest child. If she played her cards right and kept the dinner conversation from straying too far from her own life, she ought to have a starring role on the front page of most of the gossip magazines by morning. She stopped as she realized that Steve had fallen behind.

       “Come on! The new intern meeting starts in 10 minutes!”

        Steve jogged to catch up.

       “Rebecca, I really hope you let your father know how much I appreciate this opportunity. I mean, there have to be a million young poli-sci or pre-law students out there who want and deserve to be working for him more than I do!”

       “It’s no big deal. You’ve practically been a part of the family since birth anyways. And I’m his little girl. All I have to do is flutter my eyelashes a bit and he caves for me, whatever it is. Why shouldn’t my gorgeous boyfriend get in on a piece of the action?”

       “That’s not making me feel any better,” Steve said. “I’d like to think he at least appreciates my enthusiasm for his politics…”

       Rebecca groaned. “Of course he does. Like I said. He’s known you forever—he knows you are like…the perfect example of a ‘good conservative young man'…and honestly, at this point, I am willing to bet he could care less who the hell is working down here on his campaign as long as he wins. So please, just come on!"

       “Rebecca—hold up a sec.” Steve grabbed her arm and pulled her to a stop to face him. “Is…uh…is Buck really back?”

       She paused, turning to face him. “Yeah. He is. Wait,” she put her finger up to Steve’s lips as he tried to mumble something else. “Before you even ask—no I haven’t seen him yet. Andrew said he just got in yesterday. I have no idea why he came back here, but Andrew seems to think he is doing well.”

       “Huh.”

       “Are you seriously going to have a problem with this? You haven’t seen the guy in five years—it’s not like you were even talking much the last time you did see him.”

       “No…it’s just…well…I mean, we were best friends once, you know? I just feel like a total jerk for losing touch. Or not being there for him when all that…went down. Or something. I don’t know.” Steve ran his fingers through his hair. “No, it’s fine. I guess I just don’t know what to expect.”

       “I know. I think Andrew is shitting himself a little right now thinking that Buck is going to cause some giant spectacle or something—throw the media into a giant feeding frenzy, cause legal to go all up in arms, I have no idea. Dad says he’s fine. Said something about him ‘pulling it together because he is a Barnes’ yadda yadda. I heard he graduated top of his class from Michigan so he must have figured something out over there. This is the first time I am seeing him also you know?”

      “Yeah. I know. It’ll be fine.” Steve suddenly perked up. “Come on—let’s get in there before all the good seats are taken.” He grabbed her arm again and winked.

       They turned the corner together and made their way into the Barnes Family Library, now the Barnes Family Campaign Center Office, and Rebecca gripped Steve’s hand tighter as she fiddled with her pearls. Damn things. She might as well be wearing a placard around her neck: “Perfectly maintained and well-mannered housewife available!” Pearls…

 

* * *

 

       Bucky was sweating. The metro had broken down, he had to transfer to the OmniRide at Capitol Hill, he was wearing a blue tie—Jesus Christ who wears blue for a Republican campaign, he should have picked the red, and—he looked down at his watch—he was going to be late. Shit, Andrew was going to be so pissed off at him. He shouldn’t have come here. He shouldn’t have come back to this town. Oh God he shouldn’t have come back to this town! He was starting to panic; he wiped his hands down the side of his suit pants,

_Get it together Buck!_

       The voice that sounded in his mind was his constant companion these days, but it wasn’t his own. It certainly snapped him back to reality fast enough and he pushed through the flow of human traffic on the street and suddenly the smell of turpentine was enough to make him sneeze, _‘get it together Buck! Make the shot!’_ the voice cheering him on along the sideline,

       He should not have come back.

       He shook his head to clear it from the old memories, felt them tumble down, clattering in protest as they fell to the basement depths of his psyche, and wished—not for the first time on this clusterfuck of a morning—that he had a hot cup of black coffee. He turned down the street, and saw his childhood home rising up in front of him for the first time in years. 1016 E. Capitol Street. It looked the same as the last time he saw it. Some small part of him clenched in anger that it hadn’t changed at all. It was still perfect, pristine in its multi-million dollar glory. He was like that once. Perfect. A Barnes. He wasn’t sure how he would ever live up to the status that name commanded now, at least in his father’s eyes. He supposed that just being asked to be a part of this campaign, just being here, meant that at least for the moment he was absolved of past sins. But he wasn’t an idiot. He knew how carefully he had to toe the line around this family. He was here to do his job—manage the office staff—get in, get some great references, and get out. He had no ridiculous fantasies about moving back with the family, playing the game—chummy Mr. James ‘Bucky’ Barnes. He was using this as a launching pad for his own career. As soon as his father was elected, he was going back to Michigan.

        He walked up to the front door and let himself in. It would have been so easy to get lost in the complete commotion that was all around him. There were aides, and legal advisors, and jeez—kids who looked like they were just out of high school—must be interns? running around shouting things. There were banners and flyers and pickets and ‘Peter Barnes: It’s Time To Change America!’ bumper stickers and every imaginable form of press advertisement imaginable. And this was just the foyer of the row house. A young woman ran smack in to him as he was staring.

       “Excuse me—sorry but could you BE any more in the way right now?” She reached past him for a stack of papers, then hurried on down the hallway and into another room. His eyes followed her as she walked away and he tried not to let his anxiety overwhelm him as he began to feel out of place in his own house.

       “Finally! Bucky! So glad you could grace us with your presence!” Bucky jumped in surprise as Andrew appeared in front of him.

       “Sorry—really sorry, the metro…” he mumbled some half-assed apology as his older brother threw his arm around his shoulders and started leading him down the same hall the girl had just disappeared down a moment before.

       “It’s fine, it’s fine, just glad you made it. Next time call if you need help? Or, do you have an alarm on your phone? I’m sure you have an alarm—you could always just set it a little earlier maybe? It’s always really hard to gauge the public transportation around here and better early than late right?”

       Bucky could feel his jaw clench tight in irritation as he allowed Andrew the monologue while he further directed them down the hall.

       “Anyways, the interns are already all here, we’re in the middle of introducing all the staff for the campaign, just find a seat somewhere in there and try to pay attention,” Andrew was hissing in his ear, steering him to the room on the left and suddenly James found himself front and center in a room full of interns, staff, young excited twenty somethings’ who were all just _so_ thrilled to be a part of history in the making, because Peter Barnes! He could see them whispering as he walked in and looking straight at him and he thought he was going to go into a full blown panic attack the way his palms were sweating so much he could hear Andrew’s voice quietly in the background of his own heavy breathing that was flooding through his ears,

       “Hey guys- this is James Barnes—call him Bucky, he’s your office manager. Obviously one of the Barnes family, no big surprise there, graduated top of his class from the University of Michigan in Political Science, should be a fantastic asset to the campaign, so make sure you introduce…”

       He was droning on and on and suddenly all Bucky could see were one pair of blue eyes staring directly at him, and oh my God he was going to be sick, the heat and the thick air were making it hard to breathe, he had to get out of this room, _Get it together Buck_ , he glanced around and gave a half hearted sickly smile at the group, then leaned over to Andrew,

       “Hey—I swear, I’ll be right back, I just really got to use the bathroom.”

       And Andrew just nodded and continued talking, and Bucky turned around and walked back out of the room and down the hall and found the restroom, and of course it was still just as perfect as ever, sea foam green towels laid out and perfect little seashell soaps perched on their adorable dish and the faint smell of vanilla and cardamom and he tried to take deep breaths and he could feel his heart rate settling but even with the green surrounding him, all he could see was blue.

 

* * *

 

_He was walking down the steps of the middle school and when he heard the scuffle taking place. He rounded the corner and saw three guys from his class all standing defensively around a fourth kid—a scrawny thing—who was up against the wall throwing punches with all his might. It was the sort of thing Bucky would normally pass by. It was middle school—a total cesspool of blooming teenage hormones and testosterone. Someone was always getting roughed up, or spit on, or getting their head stuck in a toilet—take your pick of obnoxious pre-teen male activities. There was something about this kid though that caught his attention; the way he seemed to be egging it on, not backing down, even though he was clearly outnumbered by much bigger kids. Even so, Bucky would have still walked by if it weren’t for the punch thrown by the tallest of the group which landed square on the kid’s nose with a sickening squelching sound. The damn kid was still standing though, still mouthing off, and there was now blood pouring down his face. Bucky sighed, then turned toward the group._

_“Hey guys- come on. Leave the kid alone, what is he—half your size?”_

_“Hey Barnes, you cocksucker!” The tall one, Alexander, threw his arm around Bucky’s shoulders and grinned. “Come on man—this kid picked a fight with us!”_

_Bucky shrugged the arm off his shoulder with a friendly smile._

_“Seriously Zander. The kid looks like he’s eight years old. Just let it go.”_

_“Whatever. Come on guys!” Zander looked back towards Bucky. “We’re gunna go down to the arcade around the corner if you’re up for it? We were on our way when this piece of shit decided to run his mouth.”_

_“Na man. Maybe I’ll catch you later.”_

_“Sure—ok.” Zander wiped his bloody fist on the inside of this jacket, then motioned to his buddies and they took off down the street._

_Bucky sighed, then looked back towards the kid. He was standing against the wall, pinching his nose between finger and thumb and regarding him warily._

_“Ten.”_

_The sound was muffled coming out of his lips, and Bucky gave him a confused look._

_“Huh?”_

_“I’m ten. Not eight. And I don’t need anyone helping me out.” He was wheezing as he spoke—fresh blood dribbling out his nose. Bucky cocked his head._

_“Yeah—looked like you were doing just great on your own…”_

_“I had’em on the ropes!”_

_“Jesus kid, who talks like that? No wonder they picked a fight with you.”_

_“They didn’t pick a fight with me. I came after them. They called our president an ‘un-American Nazi piece of trash’ and worse.” He was getting red in the face just repeating it._

_“Uh…ok?” Bucky was getting the feeling that this kid was a little crazy._

_“Whatever. It doesn’t matter anymore.” The kid tried to push past Bucky._

_“Hey, wait a sec.” He paused, and they locked eyes for a moment. Bucky extended his hand. “I’m James…but uh…well, everyone kind of calls me Bucky.”_

_The kid looked him over warily, then his eyes suddenly relaxed and he smiled as he shook Bucky’s hand._

_“I’m Steve. Wanna come over and see my comic book collection?”_

_Bucky found himself nodding along. Something about those blue eyes felt so familiar, felt almost electric, felt like something was finally fitting in to place in the world around him._

_“Sure thing Steve.” He followed along as they turned back towards the street._

_“Oh and Bucky? You can call me Captain.”_

 

* * *

 

       He made it to three pm, the end of ‘campaign orientation’ with no other issues. After his mild bout of panic induced nausea in the bathroom that morning, he had quietly inserted himself back into the office room without drawing much attention at all. He proceeded to sit and listen to his brother (Mr. Andrew Barnes, Campaign Manager, Exceptional first born and all around great guy!) drone on and on about policies, write ups, media coverage, voter turnout last year, voter turn-out two years ago, voter turn-out last century, legal, canvassing, the introduction of various new members of staff, (Sam Wilson, Communications Advisor, BS in Communications from Harvard ’14—Alexander Pierce, Finance Director, MBA in Finance from Yale ’72, previously finance director for the Bush Campaign—Tech Manager, James Howlett, MS in Computer Science from Carnegie Mellon—and on and on.) With the exception of a small irritated noise in the back of his throat at the mention of James Howlett ( _ahh the ‘other’ James…asshole…)_ he sat in silence, barely moving to breathe. When they broke for lunch, he quickly and quietly excused himself and made his way upstairs to the old servants’ quarters in the back of the house where he flung himself into an antique reading chair, legs splayed casually over one are and head crooked upon the other. He immersed himself in Tolstoy to the sound of perfect silence.  Exactly 45 minutes later, he made his way back downstairs and back into his cozy little seat in the rear of the office. For eight total hours he sat in total anonymity and managed not to speak one word. And now it was 3 pm. And the meeting was over. And there was a giant traffic jam at the doorway. And his sister was on her way back to his corner. He caught her eye and gave a small nod, then waited to be accosted.

       “Oh my GOD Bucky, I can’t believe it, you’re actually here, holy crap!” She gave him the quick once over and looked back up into his eyes “You look fantastic!” She reached up suddenly and pulled him in to an enormous hug. He stood awkwardly for a second, then reached down and picked her up suddenly reverting back to his eighteen year old self.

       “Hey Bex—I missed you! Jesus, the last time I saw you, you were this awkward fumbling teenage snot!” He put her down again and she punched him in the arm playfully.

       “Thanks. Glad to see you can disappear for five years and then resume being the asshole big brother with no problems whatsoever.”

       Bucky cocked his head. “Oh. Right. The asshole big brother award totally goes to me—not Andrew.”

       “Oh don’t worry. You both vie for equal spots dependent entirely on my mood at any given moment.”

       He grinned. There was this strange warm feeling washing over him from head to toe that he quickly pinned down as actual happiness. He hated this town, hated the memories he could not get rid of from his years spent here, but he found that he actually had missed Rebecca. His baby sister was three years younger than him, but they had still grown up thick as thieves, constantly covering for each other as they inevitably got into mischief. He forced himself to stop reminiscing as he realized that Rebecca was still talking.

       “…and I know he is still around here somewhere, but we don’t have to be back here for the family dinner thing until five, so do you want to go grab a cup of coffee or something? There is this great little place that opened up last year just down the street…we have some serious catching up to do! I want to know everything!”

       He found himself nodding along. “Sure thing—I could absolutely use some more caffeine to get through this evening…”

       “Fabulous. Just hold up one second, I’ve got to find Steve. I know he is around here! I am sure he wants to see you too—mind if he tags along? I’m more than willing to bet he can fill you in on all the town gossip just as well as I can …”

       Bucky suddenly tensed up, and tried to hide it by smoothing his hair back with his hand.

       “Oh, ummm…sure…I don’t know that he’ll really want to see me…”

       “Oh my God you two are like high school girls. Seriously, whatever it was, it happened five years ago—get over it! Oh, hey Steve!” she shouted across the room and the tall blonde turned and looked over at them and suddenly James felt like he couldn’t move, like he was held in place by that piercing blue stare and Steve smiled over, that adorable, unsure, puppy dog smile and it was ridiculous how tiny tendrils of joy bloomed inside of James and it was ridiculous how a simultaneous pool of dread oozed from his stomach down to his knees and suddenly Steve was there in front of him and he had only gotten taller since the last time they saw each other and

       “Hey Buck.”

       and Bucky cocked his head, “Steve.”

       and Steve enveloped him in an enormous bear hug and the earth was thrown ever so slightly off its axis with the sudden pounding of Bucky’s heart.

Save

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone is interested, this entire fic was inspired by this song:
> 
>  
> 
> [Kaleo Can't Go On Without You](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gpG9QRV9gTk)
> 
>  
> 
> Definitely worth a listen :)
> 
> Come follow me on [Tumblr](http://iamagentcoop.tumblr.com/)


	2. Glass House

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading and commenting and leaving me kudos--you guys make my heart sing :)
> 
> Edited to include artwork by [WilliamKaplan](http://williamkaplan.tumblr.com/)

       _The September after Bucky turned fourteen he was enrolled at Episcopal High School; a highly acclaimed college preparatory program. It was a family tradition—every Barnes for the last hundred and fifty years had been attending the boarding school, and Bucky was to be no exception to the rule. He regarded the sudden life change with dismay, but also an air of inevitability. His brother was already there, finishing out his senior year, and his father was by now in the habit of reliving his glory years at the dinner table with his renditions of teenage shenanigans._

_Bucky had always been friendly. He had an outgoing, gregarious, and sometimes simply outrageous personality that had attracted the entire middle school class to him. He was also a loner. He was well versed in acting the part of the perfect jovial gentleman, having attended his fair share of press conferences, media junkets, and political meetings with his father, and he viewed attending school and ‘making friends’ as much in the same. There were pages upon pages of ‘Mrs. Bucky Barnes’ squirreled away in pre-teen notebooks, groups of girls would suddenly find themselves self-consciously smoothing back their hair and giggling with their cohorts whenever he walked by. His charisma and charm won him the respect from the students in the halls, but he never truly went out of his way to join their groups. He really was a genuinely nice kid, the kind of guy everyone just felt good being around, but when it came right down to it he just wasn’t a people kind of person.  So he would smile, chat, laugh, nod his head in constant agreement, then slip quietly out the doors to find Steve, the only person he really ever wanted to be around in the first place. All of this worked for him in middle school. He came off as alluring, interesting, ‘fascinating’ to everyone around him._

_All of it went to hell when he set foot in the preparatory school._

_Being friendly to everyone without the proper clique to back you up had a way of backfiring horribly. The constant smiles and friendly banter with every child that had garnered him respect in his pre-adolescent years suddenly touted him as being ‘not one of the pack.’ No one really bothered him all that much, besides the standard shunning, but no one actually went out of their way to stand up for him either. The ‘Barnes' name—which his brother had ridden to glory, captaining the football team, becoming prom king, graduating with perfect grades—only served to bring him down even more. The kids in his year considered him rich and pretentious, and never gave him the chance to prove otherwise. He started the year with his hand up at every question—ready to learn, ready to be inspired, ready to prove himself. Within a month, he had withdrawn, sat towards the back of the classroom, watched the clock throughout the day counting down the seconds until he could get back to his dormitory room, read a book, fall asleep, then do it all again._

_His only relief came when the school went on vacation. Then he would pack his bags, jump the metro, and ride in contentment back to family. Back to Steve._

_When it came to Steve Rogers, Bucky could almost forget about all of the crap he was putting up with at Episcopal and just live. The kid was weird; there was no doubt about it. His obsession with comic books continued well throughout middle school. He constantly referred back to the heroes the books represented—eyes glistening with excitement as he would recount the latest battle between Spiderman and Venom, or the exploits of the mutant children studying under Charles Xavier. Bucky would just play along—he hadn’t grown up on the thing. His upbringing had included Chomsky and Machiavelli and de Tocqueville, but it was hard not to find himself smiling when the kid had so much glorious passion for heroes._

_This particular summer had been a blast—it was Buck and Steve against the world. They would hop the metro and ride way out into Ellicott City, Maryland—a suburb of DC that seemed to forget the rest of the world had moved far into the 21 st century. They would walk the old streets for hours, then climb over the brick wall back into the woods a ways to an old abandoned rail yard. There were a couple of decrepit train cars standing stationary on the rusting tracks and they commandeered one to be their base for operation— Fort America: The Captain and Bucky: ‘Till the End of the Line. Steve had a professional name and tagline for everywhere they went that season. Jesus, the kid was so damn weird. _

_That June, Steve started taking art classes at the University. He had always been extremely involved in his drawing—the comic obsession manifesting itself physically through his deft strokes—but he had finally started taking it seriously. His mom enrolled him in the painting and drawing program at the local University, and he would head out there a couple afternoons a week to listen to lectures and practice, then would come back all smiles and bubbly personality, insisting that Bucky help him set up some random still life of random objects for him to practice drawing. He was talented. Even Bucky who had no eye for art could see that. He would help Steve cart all his supplies out to the fort, then lay on the old wood planks of the car, letting the stray sunbeams squeeze their way through the slots and settle, shimmering on his closed eyelids. He could smell the warm dusty air around him, the sweet scent of wood rot lingering just underneath the periphery. He could smell the strong smell of the turpentine Steve added to thin out his oil paints, a delicious bitter aroma that now clung to Steve's fingertips wherever he went. If he really concentrated, he could hear a faint tinkle of the slightly sour notes that Steve was humming just under his breath. These were the afternoons where Bucky could almost taste the bloom of perfection upon his lips, could almost find himself believing in God._

_It was also the summer that the two boys discovered vice. Bucky had found his older brother’s hidden cigar box: a magical container of immorality and iniquity. He would secret out cigarettes, and ripped out pages of Playboy magazines, and even once a small rolled joint and he would unload the treasures on to the dusty floor of the old train car. They would smoke, and Steve would cough like an old asthmatic, and Bucky would embrace the coursing nicotine like an ancient friend, and they would look at wrinkled pictures of round breasts and perky nipples and their pupils would dilate and their breathing would quicken in a state of insatiable youthful lust and Steve would blush brilliant shades of crimson and Bucky would laugh until his ribs ached and they would lay just far enough apart on the rickety wooden floor that their shoulders were not touching but that if Steve turned his head just-so the warmth of his breath would leave condensation on the nape of Bucky’s neck._

 

* * *

 

        The Coffee House, or “CoHo” as it was affectionately referred as by its patrons, sat on the corner of Massachusetts Ave. and 10th—only a block from the Barnes Estate. Rebecca expertly threaded her way through the throngs of customers and called over her shoulder,

        “You two—try and find us a seat yeah? I’ll grab the coffee.” Then she disappeared behind the tall apparition separating the bar from the rest of the house.

        Bucky awkwardly looked at Steve, who nodded his head to the left.

        “This way. We’ll try towards the back room.” His voice was still smooth, with an almost boyish pleading quality to it. He was looking straight at Bucky with those piercing blue eyes and it felt like he could strip away all of the outer layers right there, peel away the last five years and carve out the boy from the rail yard. Bucky quickly looked down, then stuck his hands in his pockets and shrugged.

        “Sure thing man. Lead the way.”

        He followed Steve back through three separate lounging rooms where they found a corner table surrounded by a small couch and an arm chair. Steve sat down on the couch and sunk in suddenly, his knees reaching to the level of his chin and a layer of dust wafting up towards the ceiling. He let out a big barking laugh and readjusted himself, perching all the way towards the armrest.

        “I swear, I do that every single time I come here!”

        Bucky found himself laughing along as he sat carefully in the armchair. “Seriously, you had to have grown another five inches since I saw you last. What the hell have you been eating at school?”

        Steve kept smiling. “I think you might be over exaggerating just slightly. But yeah, I’ve gotten really into boxing lately—and I also still play football with an intramural league there. So I’ve bulked up a bit more.”

        “You’re seriously still playing football? Even after you dislocated shoulder back in high school? That totally could have put an end to all of your painting you know…”

        Steve shrugged ruefully. “I think you’re focusing in on the wrong parts of the story there Buck. Remember Natalie Grayson?”

        Bucky couldn’t help the grin that was spreading. “Oh my God…Natalie Grayson…how could I forget!" His voice took on a high-pitched quality as he spoke, "Stevie, Stevie!! Oh, poor baby!!!" He stuck his finger down his throat and mimed gagging.

        “Hey man—don’t knock it. I got to second base with her that night. Even with the shoulder sling!”

        “Oh wow. Second base—totally worth it for the Stevie baby nickname…” He was grinning now. “She called you that for the entire year! You know, she was telling everyone that you were her one true love, her soul mate. You really broke her heart there. Poor Natalie _baby_ …”

        “Eh, what can I say, you taught me well.” Steve chuckled, then ran his hand through his short blonde hair. “I mean, are you seriously berating me for breaking one girl’s heart? If I remember right, you were the one who showed me my first picture of a naked chick. You had to have gone through the entire prep school’s worth of girls before I even showed up there!”

        Bucky was still grinning, but the smiled was starting to feel plastered on his face. He nodded quickly.

        “You know it. Bucky Barnes: lady killer, women savant, and general master of the feminine wiles…”

        “Oh my God, that took friggin’ forever!” Rebecca interrupted and placed three black coffees on the table then threw herself dramatically onto the old couch. “So sorry to interrupt bro talk, but Bucky, God you look great! And I've missed you so much, and seriously—never shave again because the scruff is super hot, and don’t you EVER leave town again you giant asshole of a big brother!” She annunciated the last part and glared angrily across the table.

         Bucky self-consciously raised his hand to rub at the stubble across his jaw, well aware that he hadn’t shaved for two days. “Well great to see you too Bex.”

        “No, seriously. I want to hear every single thing that’s happened in your life for the last five years! I’ve missed you so much, you have absolutely NO idea what living at home has been like. Mom and Dad are complete insane people,” Steve suddenly shifted uncomfortably next to her and she looked over, “Honest to God Steve. I know you, like, worship the ground my Dad walks on, but obviously you’ll be coming to all the family gatherings now and what not, and you’re about to see some seriously crazy shit go down.”

        Bucky looked up at Rebecca during the exchange and felt his forehead wrinkle up in confusion. He opened his mouth to speak, and Rebecca cut right in again.

        “But I can, like, barely even get to classes on time because Mom is so totally obsessed with how her youngest daughter is presenting herself because god forbid I give off the whorish impression that she apparently thinks I’m going for, and she literally dresses me, James! Like, lays out whole outfits for me to wear to my 300 student lecture class, because clearly everyone will be staring directly at me and not just nursing their previous night’s hangovers, and I can barely have any sort of life at all outside of school and the campaign and—”

        “Bex, slow down just a bit.” Bucky finally cut in. His sister had always had a slightly overbearing personality, but the addition of caffeine to her system was absolutely not helping her case for normalcy. “Last time I saw you, you were fifteen. What are you even doing nowadays?”

         Rebecca took a deep breath and then settled her hands on her lap. “Hmmm, ok, where to start? Well, I finished out the last couple of years at Episcopal, and applied to colleges and what not, and I ended up deciding to go to Georgetown, which of course meant that Mom and Dad just insisted I live with them, a complete disaster! Did I mention that they tried to institute a curfew for me for a few years there? I mean, seriously, I'm a college student…”

        “Bex,” Bucky reminded gently.

        “Right. So anyways, I’m getting my degree in Theater. I have one year left to go. I am taking this next year off to help work on the campaign, and then I plan on finishing out my course work and either moving to NYC to join some troupe of struggling actors or joining the Peace Corps. Mom is just so thrilled.” She rolled her eyes. “But yeah, long story short, Steve ended up at Georgetown as well—oh! Did he tell you that he got a full ride there to go to art school? Oh my God, they loved him the moment they laid eyes on him. They came out to some art show he was doing and he showed them one painting, what was it called?” She looked over at Steve briefly who was looking increasingly uncomfortable. “Oh right, ‘End of the Line’ or something?” Steve looked down and nodded and James felt a sudden urge to vomit. “It was super dark…but they seriously loved it! They offered him a full ride right on the spot. And yeah, so he ended up there also, and I guess the rest is history!” She suddenly leaned over and kissed him and James felt his grip tighten painfully around his coffee mug while his brain started doing that thing again ‘ _get it together Buck’_ but now it was Steve’s voice, no, it was always Steve’s voice, Rebecca was still talking and he was fighting the urge to puke and desperately pushing through the sudden white noise that was ringing in his ears “…four years now right hon?” And Steve was still looking intensely at the coffee table. Rebecca continued. “Right, four years together now. So I got him in on this internship as well because he’s super into Dad’s work anyways, and yeah I guess that is my life story at this point? So fill me in on your side now!” She was holding Steve’s hand and running her thumb slowly over his palm.

        His teeth were grinding together. Bucky stood up suddenly, “Sorry Bex, I just gotta piss real quick,” and he stood up with as much grace as he could manage and shoved his way past their table.

 

* * *

 

_“Hey, Buck?”_

_“Mmm?”Bucky didn’t look up from the book he was reading._

_“Can I draw you really quick?”_

_“Mmm…hang on...one sec…and done!” He triumphantly closed the pages around an old receipt that was currently serving as a place marker. “What did you say?”_

_Steve rolled his eyes. He was pretty sure that if tomorrow morning the entire world up and forgot Bucky Barnes had ever existed, the guy would just pack up a suitcase full of books and live happily ever after in some hermit shack. “I asked if I could draw you really quick?”_

_“Oh. Ummm…” Bucky’s forehead creased as he thought about it. “I guess? Isn’t that kind of weird?”_

_“Not really. We’ve been working with figure drawing in class for a couple of weeks now and I’m still just trying to get the hang of it. You don’t have to. I’m just asking.”_

_“No, no. It’s fine. What do I have to do?” Bucky sat up suddenly and grabbed the hem of his shirt. “Want me to take my shirt off?” He winked lasciviously at Steve and then cracked up, peals of laughter bouncing off the dark walls._

_Steve groaned. “Ok, now you’re **trying** to make it weird. I just wanted to draw you reading ok? The sun was hitting the bridge of your left cheekbone and splashing back onto the page and it was just this perfect moment and now you went and ruined the whole thing. I should have just drawn it and not even asked you ‘cept we just had this whole lecture about model consent._

_Bucky threw up his hands in mock protest. “Ok, ok—sorry for being a dick. Sure, you can draw me anytime. Want me to lay back down and read or whatever?”_

_Steve thought for a moment, then nodded. “Sure. I mean, the sun will be all wrong now, but it’s still good practice. What on earth are you reading anyway?”_

_Bucky held up the large tome and Steve read slowly aloud: **“ Hammer of the Gods: The Thule Society and the Birth of Nazism.** Jesus Buck—first of all, how is that even remotely interesting? And secondly, what on earth is wrong with you?”_

_Bucky just laughed. “Come on, Cap—“he looked up at the ceiling as he quoted, “Those who do not know history’s mistakes are doomed to repeat them. Or something like that. And besides. You would be amazed at how many secret societies there were during World War II. It’s seriously fascinating stuff.”_

_Steve just grimaced. “Huh. Hey, move to your left just a bit…perfect! So perfect…wow Buck, your eyes look gold in this light. I always thought they were just plain brown…”_

_Bucky just smiled and opened his book back up._

_ _

 

* * *

 

        Bucky was holding on to the sink with a death grip. The whole thing sucked. He absolutely expected that, of course, nothing was going to stay exactly the same—he was the one who fucking left town in the first place and stayed gone this long. But it still just sucked to see everyone here still happy and living their perfect little lives without him. Christ, the last time he saw Rebecca she was barely even fifteen and still looked like a little kid! Now she was gorgeous, turning the heads of every man she walked by, and clearly happily joined together at the hip to Steve. His Steve. Steve Rogers, aka nerdy comic book kid, aka the Captain, aka Cap, aka the missing piece to his craptastic puzzle of a life. Jesus Christ, could he be any more melodramatic about the whole thing? It wasn’t like he was going to move back to town and the dude would just show up at his apartment door,

_“Oh, hey Buck, so I didn’t do anything for five years cause I figured you’d come back sooner or later…wanna go chill at the train yard?”_

_"Oh sure, Steve, sounds great, also I am in love with you and have been for eleven years.”  
        “Ok cool- we can work that out, I’m down for anything.”_

        Yeah. That would go over well.

        He sighed and turned the water on, then looked up as he heard the door open.

        “Hey Bucky.” Steve stood there, wringing his hands together awkwardly and looking all the world like a little lost puppy dog.

        “Steve.”

        “Uh, so…sorry about all that. I didn’t really mean for you to find out that way and all…”

        “It’s not a big deal,” Bucky cut him off. “I know you guys were in the same class here and all, it makes sense.”

        Steve looked up at him cautiously. “Well, yeah. I mean, we were in the same class at Episcopal you know, and then after you left, we just started hanging out together more? And then it turned out that we both got accepted to Georgetown, so things just ended up working out. She’s in the theater school which is on the same campus as the art school, so we saw each other a lot there.”

        “Yeah Steve. It’s fine. Really. I’m glad you’re both happy.” He looked down at the floor quickly, then forced himself to look back into Steve’s eyes. “I’m just still getting my bearings on everyone’s major life changes around here. It’s really no big deal.”

        Steve took a step forward. “I just, um…shoot this is pretty awkward,” he shrugged sheepishly, “just the way we left things…”

        Bucky took a deep breath, shoved his hands back in his pockets and held Steve’s gaze. “Dude. I was wasted. Sorry to bruise your ego and everything, but you are _really_ not my type.” He winked, then walked past Steve and held the door. “You coming back out? It’s my turn to catch you guys up on all the happenings in my life, and trust me, you do not want to miss some of these stories. Wild college nights, loose women and all that jazz. ”

        Steve stared at him for a moment, then dropped his gaze. “Oh…uh…yeah, I’ll be right out.”

        Bucky turned and walked out of the restroom feeling sick and angry and didn't turn around again to see Steve staring silently after him.

 

* * *

 

_It was an entire landscape of blue. They were certainly still in the rail yard, but each train car was winking in and out of existence with each breath he took and if he closed his eyes he could convince them to stay but if he opened his eyes they disappeared leaving an afterimage superimposed in blue. He closed his eyes and reached out to touch each car, to use his rough fingertips as a guide, and he found what he was looking for, the crude scratch marks,_

_“ ‘Till the End of the Line—S+B”_

_And he knew he was at the right car, so he opened his eyes again and as the car winked back into place he pushed open the door and the smell of turpentine encased him, so he swallowed it all—it had a sweet taste of summer and innocence and laughter and he realized that he had closed his eyes and he was on his back in the car and there was no turpentine, it was Steve's fingers he could smell, it was fingers he thought he could swallow, it was fingers he was pushing down and there was a knot in his stomach that was pressing harder and it felt like pleasure and it felt like pain and it felt like blue and all he could think of were rough fingertips and he couldn't tell where his own ended and where Steve's began…_

_He shot up in bed sweating and breathing hard. As his hand clutched the blankets around him, he suddenly realized that his sheets were clinging between his legs, wet and sticky._


	3. I Got Eyes On You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter up! Thank you to everyone who is still reading. We are going to start getting into serious action in the next few chapters so hang in there--things will start to happen!  
> <3

       Bucky looked at his watch for what felt like the twenty-seventh time that minute, then looked back up at the flashing commuter info board.

_Eastbound Blue Line: 3 minutes_

       Shit. It had been flashing the same information for the last eight minutes. He really shouldn’t have gotten that cup of coffee with Rebecca and Steve. It was great to catch up with them—he couldn’t believe he was actually thinking that, but there it was. It was great to catch up with them, and it was really great to see Rebecca. She looked so…happy. She certainly wouldn’t lead any casual bystander to that conclusion with the constant self-pitying talk, but he knew her well enough to look past all the drama. She seemed truly happy. She was practically glowing in anticipation of all of the future media events, and college life really seemed to agree with her. She looked great. She was gorgeous and all grown up and so _not_ the quiet, mousy teenager who abided perfectly by every tenant of the Barnes house that Bucky remembered her as.

       He could have almost forgotten everything right then, almost apologize for his unbelievably long absence and beg her forgiveness and then throw his arm around her, ruffling her perfect hair as only a big brother is wont to do, and move forward as the past five years crumbled to dust in the wind around them.

       Almost.

       But then there was Steve.

       Steve whose smile lit up the entire coffee shop floor.

       Steve whose piercing blue eyes resonated with something deep within Bucky’s own soul.

       Steve, whose very name brought with it the faint smell of charcoal and warm wood.

       Steve, whose arm was wrapped around Bucky’s sister.

       And there it was.

       It wasn’t like he ever stopped thinking about the guy, but it turned out that there was still some residual shitty emotional sentiment there. He had buried everything pretty deeply, he was remarkably good at dampening his own feelings in most matters, but they sure as hell tried to bubble its way back out once he made eye contact.

       Eastbound Blue Line: 2 minutes

       Oh, thank Christ. It finally changed. He looked back down at his watch: 4:27. It was a thirty-five-minute commute each way to and from his new apartment. He desperately needed to grab a quick shower and change into fresh clothes before dinner at the Barnes residence at promptly 6 pm. If everything ran perfectly from here on out, he would have exactly twenty-three minutes at home to get his shit together and look like a perfect Barnes son who had not just spent the day staving off a complete panic attack, sweating through his collared shirt and smelling like anxiety. His father was going to be at this dinner. Not that he necessarily needed to impress the man…George was the one who called Bucky into this project, he obviously felt that Bucky had proved himself decently enough to be welcomed back into the family business. He _had_ to be impressed with his degree and with the recommendations his professors passed along. He _had_ to be impressed with all of the work Bucky had done on the recent Finance Reform Bill that had just been approved…that was completely up George’s alley, and Bucky had put in most of the grunt work for the damn thing, and,

       Bucky groaned. Oh yeah. He was totally over George and the manipulation patterns that were present in every facet of his life and _Jesus_ , he wasn’t trying to impress the guy at _ALL._

       He heard a distant rumble and checked his watch. 4:28. Twenty-two minutes at home. It would be fine, that was more than enough time for a quick shower. He could even grab a red tie. That would be good. That would look better. He brushed his hair out of his eyes as the train rolled into the station and stepped up to the faded yellow line on the platform. Man, Steve looked really good. He flinched internally. _Quit it Barnes._

       Dark red. A dark red tie. That would look best.

 

* * *

 

_Here’s the thing._

_Bucky wasn’t ‘in’ to guys. It wasn’t like that with him and Steve. It would never be like that with him and Steve. He was super all about girls. Come on. Breasts? They were   seriously awesome._

_Picture this: last day of classes—Grade 10. Bucky Barnes totally making out with Nicole Landon in the back alley between the science and humanities buildings. Tongue and everything. She was one of those ‘super early puberty' types and already had massive tits that were pressing into Bucky's chest and his hand was half way up the front of her blouse and she was sticking her tongue in his mouth and her hands were groping the front of his pants and her thick ponytail was knotted around his right hand and…_

_“Dude. Landon. Whore it up much?”_

_A group of jocks had suddenly appeared whom Bucky eyed with disinterest._

_Nicole coyly pulled her tongue back out of Bucky’s mouth and pushed him gently to the side, smoothing back her hair with her left hand._

_‘Whatever Brandon. You’re just pissed your girlfriend’s holding out on you.” She smiled sweetly toward the group of jocks and pushed Bucky until his back was pleasantly rubbing up against the wall._

_“Ok **Sweetheart**.” Brandon spat to the side. “Just thought I’d warn you—this guy is all kinds of pretentious and bag of dicks to boot.”_

_“Oh yeah?” Bucky replied sweetly over Nicole’s shoulder, “then what the hell does that make you? Fuck off DuPont.” And he grabbed Nicole and forced their mouths back together, exchanging saliva in the forceful, desperate way that only two sixteen-year-olds can,_

_And he was seriously half hard with just the memory. Definitely liked girls. He palmed his erection through his pants and glanced over at the small digital clock perched on his dresser. He was s’posed to meet Steve in ten minutes…_

_He closed his eyes and started rubbing his palm up and down. He thought about breasts, and thought about Nicole Landon’s wet mouth on his dick and it only took him two minutes to come in his boxers and so what if he bit his tongue to keep from murmuring his best friends name…_

 

* * *

 

       Surprisingly, the trains ran perfectly on schedule for the next hour and thirty-three minutes, and his shower and change of clothes really only took him seventeen minutes. The red tie was easily the best choice he could make, and he found himself back in the foyer of the Barnes Family row house at exactly 5:58 pm according to his watch which he checked one last time just for good measure. He took a deep breath, plastered his ‘James Buchanan Barnes: perfect second son' smile on his face and ascended the stairs up to the second-floor dining room.

       It was a small soirée of sorts—the kind that only Winifred Barnes could come up with so effortlessly. There was a small string trio playing in the corner, and the ‘help’ was drifting through the dining hall with platters of hors d’ouvres. There were a few people mingling around the enormous dining table with drinks in their hands; he thought he recognized a couple from the earlier meeting but for the life of him could not remember their names. He managed to barely contain an eye roll before suddenly being set upon by the lady of the house herself.

       “Oh Bucky, it’s absolutely wonderful to see you again!”

        His mother rushed over to him and embraced him, planting a quick kiss on his cheek for good measure. Then she looked up at him and reached her hand out to cradle his head.

       “Honey, we have all missed you so much. Really sweetheart—why you ever felt the need to leave is completely beyond me. But that’s all in the past now…” she maintained eye contact “…you look very healthy sweetheart. Maybe Michigan really did agree with you.” She suddenly hugged him again.

        Bucky pushed her back, slightly embarrassed at the rather large display of affection. “Mom,” he grinned sheepishly, “it’s really good to see you too. I did miss you, y’know.”

        She patted him on the cheek. “Well. Do come in dear. Make yourself at home…again.” She smiled and gestured behind her. “Your father is somewhere over there—I think he’s speaking with Rebecca and Steven. What a lovely couple they make! And Andrew should be floating about…”

       “Mom,” Bucky interrupted. “Isn’t this whole thing a little…much? For just family I mean?” He waved over towards the string players.

       “Oh honey, of course not! We do have a few different reporters here and there are quite a number of staffers dropping by. At it’s heart, it is a family dinner, but as we are announcing the run for the presidency this weekend, and we already have media trying to get the inside scoop on the Barnes Family, we extended a bit to include the ‘campaign family’. We do have an image to uphold here.”

       Bucky felt himself tensing up at her words but focused on breathing steadily. “Oh. I guess I didn’t realize that we were inviting the media to events already…”He tried desperately for nonchalance as he tried to remind himself that he was no longer the Barnes family fuck-up. He was an extremely successful graduate. Who had already put in plenty of time in the capitol building in Michigan…it wasn’t as though he had no place in this family…

       His mother had stopped paying attention to him. She reached out and patted his arm distractedly, “Yes, yes dear. Please excuse me for a moment—oh it really is much too early for your father to be starting in on the brandy like that…” she made to move off, and then looked back once more at Bucky and smiled. “You really do look so…healthy.”

       Then she was off flitting through the servers leaving Bucky to stand awkwardly at the entrance of the room. Well shit. He really thought this was just a small family get together. Of course, he had received an elaborate gold leafed invitation in the mail weeks ago, but at the time, he had chalked it up to one of Winifred's many predilections for proper etiquette and drama. Thank God he had at least gone home and showered. He was really in no mood to deal with media yet…he had just barely gotten into town for Christ's sake and already he was going to have to put on his ‘perfect Barnes' act. He self-consciously tucked his hair behind his ear and then looked up in relief to see Rebecca waving at him from the far corner where she and Steve appeared to be hiding out. A sudden wave of relief washed over him and he managed to make it halfway there before being accosted by a serving woman.

       “What can I get you to drink sir?”

       “Oh. Umm…just water would be great?”

        A hand suddenly clamped down hard on his shoulder and a booming voice projected throughout the room. “Better make it water for this one…Christ knows he’s the one Barnes who can’t handle his liquor!” Bucky felt the heat rising in his cheeks and he looked at the serving woman who shuffled uncomfortably.

       “So…a water then…?” She maintained an uncomfortable eye contact with him through the exchange which he had to credit it her for.

       “Yeah. Sure. Uh…thanks.” Bucky was acutely aware of other guests staring over at him and tried to fight down his annoyance. He mustered up that winning smile of his again and turned to face the man with the voice. “Hi Dad.”

       “James! It’s good to finally see you back where you belong, eh?”

       “Yes. Sir. It’s nice to be in DC again.” Bucky swallowed suddenly, his throat feeling increasingly dry. Jesus, he had all of these great things planned to say to the man, but the second his father appeared he suddenly felt like he was five all over again.

       George Barnes just grinned, then clapped a hand down hard on Bucky’s shoulder and steered him over towards the table where he picked up a glass of champagne and rapped on it lightly. The small gathering all stopped their collective chatter and turned to face George Barnes.

       “Hello and welcome everyone!”

        A smattering of applause echoed throughout the large room.

        “It is so good to see you all this evening. I am thrilled to have each and every one of you here for the first official campaign dinner celebrating our family. And on that note, I am so happy to reintroduce the long lost Barnes: please welcome James back into the DC fold!” He looked confidently around at the small group of guests gathered and gave his signature wink, “and please don’t forget to remind him just how us civilized people act. Apparently he forgot a bit while he was on his hippie retreat up North.” He grinned and as if to emphasize his point reached out and tousled Bucky’ long hair. Bucky inadvertently reached up and removed George’s hand while maintaining the steady smile. He looked across the room to Rebecca who rolled her eyes in a stunning display of exasperation while Steve looked down at the floor.

        He looked back at his Dad, then reached over and picked up a glass of water from the table before speaking.

       "Thanks, Dad. It is great to be back. It's amazing to see just how much has changed in five years." _And just how much has stayed exactly the same._ The thought surfaced unbidden, bouncing annoyingly into that small space behind his eyes. “But seriously, I couldn’t be happier to be working for this man." He let his eyes roam over the crowd, watched them hang on his every word, waiting for the moment to burst into sudden applause like good little sycophants, "to George Barnes.” He held up his glass, and immediately everyone else did too, and then they all took long drinks, and he managed to catch a faint glimmer of approval in Rebecca’s eyes and just like that the dinner started and he was content to fold surreptitiously back into the surrounding grey matter of everyone’s collective subconscious—

       ‘Oh yes, that was Bucky Barnes; he is kind of an unknown and he might have had issues in the past, but he sure seems to have turned it around now. But let’s be honest, he is the second Barnes son and is really just not that important.’

 

* * *

 

_Bucky and Steve were once again hanging out in the Fort watching the last dregs of summer leech forth from the surrounding foliage. Bucky was lounging comfortably, back against the wall and knees pulled up to his chest, twirling the empty stem of a dandelion between his two fingers and watching Steve from the corner of his eye. Steve, for his part, was sitting cross-legged with a portfolio pad of paper resting casually in his lap and nubs of black charcoal surrounding him. Every so often he would look over at Bucky and grimace, rubbing his hand against his temple and leaving black streaks that mixed with a light sheen of sweat to slowly trickle down his pale skin._

_“Really does a lot for a guy’s confidence to watch you make that face…” Bucky stated wryly. “Feeling just peachy over here buddy.”_

_Steve didn’t respond. He was staring down at his paper, completely oblivious to the surrounding world—lost in a reverie of smudging and shadowing and texturing and black…_

_“Hey. Steve.” The guy still didn’t move. Bucky exhaled and quietly scooted over to the corner, then reached out his hand and wiped a smear of black from Steve’s left cheek._

_“Jeez!” Steve jumped visibly. “What the heck Buck?”_

_“Just making sure you were still breathing over here.” Bucky looked down at his fingers, rubbing at the sticky black charcoal left on them. “ You’ve got this crap all over your face, you know?”_

_“Oh. Yeah.” Steve pawed at his forehead distractedly. “Sorry—what’s up?”_

_“Nothin. Just got a little tired of you constantly scowling over what I can only assume is dissatisfaction with my delicate features. Hey, can I see?”_

_Steve grabbed the pad closer to him. “No. It’s not finished.”_

_Bucky backed away again. “Ok, sorry man. What are you sketching anyways? Haven’t you drawn my stunning mug enough at this point? Bet your teachers are getting real curious who the ‘gorgeous dude’ you paint constantly is…” He was still grinning wildly as he sat back against the wall again and studied Steve for a reaction._

_“I can always use more practice figure drawing. And yeah, my professor actually asked me about you. She thinks I’m pretty lucky to have someone pose for me who…what did she say…looks like a young ‘James Dean’. I just told her you were some homeless dude with no social life who I picked up cheap on the side of the highway.” He grinned, then suddenly picked up a nub of charcoal and launched it at Bucky where it hit him dead center in the chest, leaving a giant smear of oily black down the front of his red t-shirt._

_“Goddammit Cap—you are in for it, you little shit!" Bucky launched himself up from the side of the car and threw himself on top of Steve who quickly pushed his portfolio out of the way and jumped into the brawl with all the grace and might of a full grown Siberian Tiger. They tumbled around the dusty car kicking, and throwing playful punches and trying to force each other down into that ever elusive headlock and finally Bucky pushed Steve off in mock surrender laughing and gasping for breath all the while,_

_“Christ Rogers, I still remember when you were still a fifty-pound shrimp, what the hell happened man?"_

_and Steve was suddenly there right beside him pleased as punch,_

_“Ain’t puberty grand?”_

_and Steve laid his head down on Bucky’s shoulder in that small spot between collarbone and neck where it always fit so perfectly while Bucky reigned in his hoarse breathing and rested his cheek on the soft strands of blonde hair and grinned in contentment and tried to time his breathing to Steve’s and they sat for a small moment in perfect harmony,_

_“Hey, Steve?” Bucky murmured into the top of Steve’s head._

_“mmm?”_

_“How’re you gonna keep up with your drawing at Episcopal this year?”_

_Steve pulled his head up slowly and leaned it back against the wall. “eh. Shouldn’t be too much of a problem. It’s not like I have all those crazy academic classes to worry about like you do. My class load is pretty simple.”_

_Bucky grunted in agreement. “Yeah, but are you still planning on going out for football and all that?”_

_“Yeah,” Steve nodded, “But, it’s not like I’ll make varsity this year. Should only take up my afternoons. I’m going to keep taking classes online through the University over the weekends, so I’ll just have to put in the time then, and maybe in the mornings.”_

_“Huh.” Bucky suddenly reached out and playfully punched Steve. “You going to have any time for me at all man?” He asked as though it were a rhetorical question, but he could already feel his heart starting to wage war in his chest and though he dreaded any answer, he waited in anticipation._

_Steve looked surprised, as though he had never even thought of the possibility that they would no longer have time to be together. “Of course! Of course I’ll have time for you.” He considered the question again for a moment while Bucky struggled to control his breathing. Then a small grin spread across his face. “You are my sidekick after all—the great Bucky Barnes!”_

_Bucky snorted in response. “Great. You make me sound like your faithful steed.”_

_Steve giggled. "And I shall ride thee into the sunset on to battle and adventure forever more! Or…something…heck that sounded really bad…"_

_Bucky just grinned. “Forever more Steve.”_

 

* * *

 

        Bucky managed to make it the rest of the way through the dinner without any more awkward speeches, bizarre family reunions, or idle small talk. He found himself seated at the end of the table furthest from his father and the local media minions and was actually pleased to be amongst Rebecca and Steve. The entire affair seemed so incredibly staged and ridiculous—he couldn’t believe these journalists couldn’t see right through his conniving manipulative parents who were obviously putting on the “Welcome to the Barnes Family: Perfection at its Finest” show but he happily stayed out of the limelight and as the dinner closed found himself actually having some semblance of a decent time.

       He found himself at the end of the line of people trying to get out the door and back to their busy evenings and almost escaped completely unnoticed until he felt his  mother’s hand on his arm, pulling him back into the hall.

       “James,” she spoke severely, “just where do you think you are running off to?”

       “Uh, I have a lot of work to get done before the meetings tomorrow Mom. Just thought I would try to head off. Thirty-minute commute and all?" He spoke plaintively, desperately trying not to get sucked in to the inevitable Barnes family peacock festival, where each member would talk loudly over the other frantic to get their point of view across, to prove that they, no _THEY_ were the most successful Barnes, to one-up each other until all hours of the night with bottles of brandy disappearing at alarming rates…

       “Really Bucky. It is time for you all to catch up. Do come upstairs to the sitting room. Your father is getting out the brandy as we speak,”

       He groaned internally. There it was.

       “And we do SO want to hear about Michigan. Go on, go on.”

       She tutted him towards the stairs; the perfect mother hen. Christ he needed a better analogy for these people. Peacocks at least were pretty to look at; Barnes family members were just nasty once they had been drinking.

       Well. Nothing for it. "Yes Mom. See you up there." He tried to keep the dismay from leaking over into his voice. There was no way he had another minute of ‘fake Bucky Barnes smile’ left in him, so ‘alarmingly smoldering scowl’ was going to have to do as a filler. He trudged his way up the second flight of stairs and entered the small sitting room on his right to see George and Andrew who were already deep in conversation with Rebecca and Steve sitting discreetly to the side.

       “I’m just saying, Dad. The polling numbers coming out of New Hampshire and Iowa right now aren’t looking strong in favor of someone who holds your extremely tough conservative views. We might consider backing off on the whole gay marriage thing for a bit…I know, I know that is one of your talking points. I’m not saying we drop it—we just leave it for the next few months and possibly reach out to a few of the more moderate senators for their support—before waging war again.”

       “I’m not dropping the issue Andrew, no, don’t even get me started again on that damn repeal, oh and speak of the Devil,” he suddenly glanced up at Bucky standing awkwardly in the doorframe, “It’s the mighty traitor himself come to lend his two cents…” He held up his almost empty glass to Bucky who felt his ears starting to burn as the inevitable redness crept up the back of his neck.

       “Way to start in on that again Dad.” he mumbled softly.

       “No, no,” George continued, “I’d just _love_ your views on the subject now that you accepted a job working for my campaign.” He looked expectantly at Bucky who wished more than anything at that moment that a sinkhole would suddenly open up where he was standing and swallow him into the depths of the earth where he would happily converse freely with Beelzebub himself because the horned dude with a pitchfork and tail would probably be more welcoming than George Barnes. He snuck a glance over at Rebecca and Steve who were both gaping at the three men and doing nothing at all to help ease him out of this shit storm of a topic.

       “Jesus Dad. Lay off him. It was five years ago, the bill is passed, done and over, move on.” Andrew spoke up with disdain. “You’re the one that hired him for the campaign, at least give him a fucking chance.”

       George’s eyes narrowed as he looked over Bucky, then gestured to the empty chair next to him and the half drank bottle of brandy. “Sit. Please. Regale us with stories from the North. Stay a while. And for fucks sake, now that there aren’t any reporters around to see you, have a drink.”

       Bucky moved hesitantly into the lounge chair next to his father and briefly eyed the liquor. “Nice to see you again too Dad.”

       “So, son. Now that I have welcomed you back into the fold with open arms—”

       Bucky almost snorted in incredulity. Christ, the man had a penchant for dramatics. Apparently Rebecca really did come well by it…

       “Do tell us about your happy little excursion to the land of the granola hippie liberals.”

        Bucky took a deep breath and focused entirely on relaxing his hands which were fighting to start ripping pieces of stuffing out from the armchair.

       “Dad, come on,” Rebecca piped up from the corner. “You know as well as any of us that the University of Michigan is just as widely a respected and renowned institution as Yale. He worked just as hard as you, or Andrew, or any other Barnes for his degree…”

       “Ah, must be nice…” George cut her off waving his hand in the air, “to still have your baby sister defending you after all these years…”

       “Dad,” Bucky spoke, “honestly, how much have you had to drink already?” The man didn’t usually get quite this nasty unless he was well on his way through a bottle.

       “Oh. Says the damn alcoholic son.”

        Bucky flinched.

       "Twenty-three years old and already throwing your life down the toilet."

       “Well _Dad_ ,” he emphasized the word with a snarl, “you know I only learned from the best….”

       “Jesus Christ you two, just quit it for fuck’s sake!” Andrew was suddenly out of his chair. “Dad, you invited him back. _You_. So move on, put the past behind you, and _stop_ being an asshole.” He turned to face Bucky. “And Bucky. You work for the man. You are here in D.C. again so you obviously want to go somewhere with your career. Stop antagonizing him and grow up!”

       Bucky stiffened and nodded slowly while watching Andrew sit down again.

       “Now,” Andrew eyed George again. “Next topic _please_.”

        George grinned at Andrew and nodded his agreement. “Right you are my boy, right you are,” and Bucky felt himself just recoil in loathing and venom was spurting through his veins and God the whole thing was so unfair, it was always so unfair…he was seriously putting himself out there right now, could George not see that? He came crawling back on hands and knees, practically eating out of the hand of the bastard, but no matter what he did Andrew would always be the perfect son.

       He pulled himself out of his own self-loathing pity fest just in time to hear George start in on Steve.

       “So then my dear boy, you know I have always been so thrilled with your exemplary focus on our strong commitment to family values, but now I do have to wonder, what exactly are your intentions towards my daughter?”

       Bucky bit the side of his cheek hard in shock and managed to hold back a grin. Looked like the second son wasn’t the only one who was in the line of fire tonight. He looked up and watched Steve flounder, suddenly put incredibly on the spot by the man he so admired, and finding no words at all.

       The silence just echoed in the room around them and Steve looked almost hilariously frightened.

        “Come on Dad,” Rebecca finally spoke up, putting her hand possessively on Steve’s knee. “We’re twenty-one, at least give us a year or two.” She smiled charmingly and George seemed content to drop the subject.

        The five of them managed to keep conversation civilized for the next hour when Rebecca finally spoke up and suggested that she go check on Winifred, asking Steve to help. Bucky watched them longingly as they left through the open door and then sat uncomfortably trying to fill in bits and pieces of conversation with his father and Andrew who were suddenly deeply involved in a loud debate over the ethics of the current tax reform George was proposing.

       “Oh hey, Dad,” he spoke up suddenly and George and Andrew both turned to him. “I um, I just wanted to mention that I spent the last few weeks running numbers and I have a few reports I’d love to run by you that I think could help with the disbursement of public funds as well as save a few—”

        “Sure, sure James.” George cut him off and turned back to Andrew where they continued their conversation, turning now to leading Republican Senators who might be willing to lend their support to the campaign especially for a few political favors here and there.

       Bucky stood up irritably.

       “Well, see you then.”

       Neither even looked his way.

 

* * *

 

_The thing was, Bucky was dreading Steve being at Episcopal. Steve was one of those instantly popular kids. Now that he had hit his growth spurt, he was not only tall and handsome, but an athlete and killer artist to boot. He was going to be completely surrounded by obnoxious jock douche bags who wanted to be friends with the current ‘it' boy and he would constantly be followed by flocks of freshman girls who would drool all over him, and press themselves up against him, and accidentally brush in to him next to his locker, and demand all of his attention…_

_Bucky didn't come up with this all on his own. Rebecca had kindly informed him the night before classes started that ‘by the way, your friend Steve? Oh my God, he is a total babe and all the girls are going to fight to the death trying to get just a smile from him, and can you just spread it around maybe kind of that I, like, hang out with you guys all the time?”_

_Steve was naïve. Though Bucky had slowly been trying his best to corrupt him over their summers spent together, Steve was still at heart a good Catholic boy and he wasn’t ready for all the insane drama that was boarding school territory. He was going to get sucked in, and spit back out, and if he even remembered Bucky’s name at the end of the whole process it was going to be a frickin’ miracle._

_He was really trying to not feel sorry for himself here. He didn’t really care that much about the whole popularity game. The girls still liked him well enough up at school—he still had the whole ‘dark misunderstood soul wrapped in an enigma’ thing going for him so that worked to his advantage. But the jocks were all total assholes and went out of their way to make his life miserable. And Steve was trying out for the football team. And would make it on, no problems whatsoever. So Steve would officially be a jock. Ergo, Steve would hate on Bucky._

_Ok, that was ridiculous. Steve was a good guy, he wasn’t going to just turn in to some giant douchebag ‘pick on the rich Barnes kid loser’ cause it’s great sport. But that didn’t mean they were going to stay friends._

_And so it was that Bucky Barnes spent the last night of summer biting his nails down to bloody stumps, and sweating through his sheets, and cursing God for ever introducing him to Steve fucking ‘Cap’ Rogers._

 

* * *

 

       Bucky walked down the hallway pissed at the world. Fuck George Barnes. Why the hell would he even bother coming back to this hell hole when that man was going to be involved in his life? Oh Christ he needed a drink…

       He heard arguing from around the corner.

       He stopped suddenly as he recognized the voices as Rebecca and Steve. Shit. He really shouldn’t listen in. That kind of made him a total dick wad of a human being,

       “Jesus! Do you have any fucking idea what it means to be dating the future Presidents’ daughter Steve?”

       Well that didn’t sound good. Wasn’t like he could exactly appear from around the corner now. He could hear Steve mumble some sort of reply, and then Rebecca was yelling again.

        “I’m not asking you to marry me right now! I have absolutely no desire to be married right now! All I am asking is that you sure as hell better be serious about this! There is no way I am going through a public breakup now…now that the fucking media are involved and all over the place and scoping out every movement I make—”

       “I’m sorry Rebecca!”

       Steve’s voice now.

       “He put me completely on the spot—I just froze up—you know how I feel about us…”

        Rebecca laughed a bit hysterically. “Hard to tell Steve. Really. Hard to tell. You didn’t have to tell him we were getting married tomorrow. Just…stand up for me even a little! You’re going to have press in your face for the next seven months! If you don’t have intentions, then you sure as hell better let me know now, and then suck it up and get through the rest of this campaign. That’s all I’m asking. Pretend for half a year that you care, then do whatever you want.”

       “Rebecca, it’s not like that! I just…I couldn’t think straight, he was looking right at me!”

       Rebecca sighed—a loud echoing sound that seemed to bounce eternally through the hall. “I’m sorry. Being around him stresses me out, and sets me off. But you _need_ to realize. You have to think about everything you do and say now. Everything. Just _think_ about it, Steve.”

       Bucky heard footsteps down the hall. He sighed. Looked like he wasn’t the only one having a rough night. He stepped out from around the corner planning to sneak down the stairs for his coat and get the hell out of here,

       Steve was still standing there looking forlorn.

       “Oh…shit,” Bucky exclaimed, then clapped his hand over his mouth feeling like a complete idiot. One set of footsteps. Not two. Idiot!

       “Hey Buck. You hear all of that?” Steve looked completely dejected.

       “Uh….yeah man. Sorry. Totally wasn’t trying to eavesdrop, just kind of got stuck back there around the corner…” Bucky fumbled awkwardly.

       “Ehh. Not my best night.”

       “Uh…right. Well, at least you aren’t quite as low on the totem pole as I still am apparently…” Bucky smiled shyly up at Steve.

       “Well.  Leave it to the ‘Cap’ and his sidekick to be the odd men out, right?” Steve grinned. “Hey, you want to go grab a beer or something?” His face suddenly fell again, “Oh shit. I’m sorry…that was…not cool…”

       "No, it's totally fine. You think I have no self-control at all? I'd be totally up to whoop your ass in a game of pool if you think you're up for it."

       Steve shot back that winning smile, and Bucky felt his heart nearly burst from his chest in a spectacular display of athleticism and Steve threw his arm around Bucky’ shoulders and led them both from the house.


	4. Way Down We Go

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At last--the action is starting to happen!!!
> 
> This was one of my favorite chapters to write, and still is one of my favorite chapters of all. Really hope you enjoy it :)
> 
> PS. If ANYONE out there knows how to incorporate 'indents' when uploading from MS Word into Rich Text editor--help me please!! I have been doing it manually for the last 3 chapters, but I am tired of hitting the spacebar 7 times for every line of text in each 6k word chapter. :)

_Steve made Varsity his first year at Episcopal High. Bucky couldn’t even find it in his heart to be pissed, or irritated by it, because true to his word, Steve still managed to spend every spare moment with him. He had set up a strict schedule which he promptly printed out and gave to Bucky on the morning that classes first started. Honestly, Bucky should have at least attempted to give him some grief over how ridiculously obsessive compulsive and over the top the thing was but there was this little doodle on the bottom right corner of Steve holding a shield in front of Bucky who appeared to be aiming a gun at some presumable enemy and it was labeled in Steve’s sloppy cursive: ‘Rinse and Repeat ‘till the end of the Line!’ and it was just too damn adorable:_

_Bucky had folded up the piece of paper and stuck it in his notebook pocket where it peeked out, always reminding him that Steve was still around and occasionally shooting out invisible tendrils of hope, or joy, or fear, or exhilaration to creep down his chest looking for purchase_

_It was getting harder and harder for him to keep pretending that he wasn’t in love with his best friend._

_They rarely saw each other during actual class time—Steve was two years his junior after all so their classes were, for the most part, on completely separate ends of the campus. But on nice days Bucky would sporadically  stop by the football fields and lean back against one of the many maple trees that dotted the landscape and open up his textbooks to study, every so often glancing up over his notes to watch the practice going on, to watch for flashes of blonde hair, to watch Steve Rogers._

_Steve, for his part, seemed to notice nothing strange, never commented on the way that Bucky would suddenly and awkwardly withdraw from conversations in a moment’s notice, or would sink deeply into an arm casually thrown round his shoulder with a sigh, or would just as quickly brush off that hand, or would occasionally blush in horrific shades of crimson at an offhanded remark and make up an excuse—any excuse!—to leave the room. Steve was the epitome of American Golden Boy perfection, and Bucky had no intention of ever fucking that up for him. But he still found himself against those damn maple trees, trying to stop grinning, trying to stop sliding out that folded up piece of paper from the pocket of his notebook and rubbing his fingers across the little figures in the angle of the page, **‘till the end of the line**. _

_He was well and truly fucked._

_It was on one such glorious afternoon that football practice ended while he was deeply enmeshed in ‘The Rise and Fall of the Roman Empire’. From the corner of his vision he could see that giant dickwad Brandon and his ragtag band of cronies making their way towards his maple. He quickly glanced back toward the field to see that Steve and a few other players were still embroiled in various discussions of possible plays, and decided that this particular instant might not be the best moment to get involved in another verbal sparring match with the asshole jocks from his year. He shoved his texts back into his bag and grabbed his notebook, then turned to leave figuring he would just catch up with Steve later—_

_“Hey, Barnes!”_

_He kept walking._

_“I’m talking to you, asswipe!”_

_And still walking. He was not going to stoop down to their level, he was not going to stoop down to their level, he was not going to stoop down,_

_“Hey! Faggot!”_

_He stopped dead in his tracks and swiveled around, fury burning in his eyes._

_“What the fuck is your problem Brody?”_

_“Just curious, Barnes—do you like sitting on the sidelines because you like watching all the guys without their shirts? Or are you really just there for one in particular?”_

_Bucky’s eyes narrowed and he stepped up to Brody DuPont while the other guys just snickered in the background. “What the hell is that supposed to mean,” he hissed._

_Brody just smiled lightheartedly. “I mean, come on man. The dude is two years younger than you and you still just follow him around like a little lost puppy dog…”_

_Bucky could feel his fists clenching and he was trying so desperately to get his anger under control he did not want to start a fight within view of that field, Steve really hated it when he fought, he was not going to stoop down to their level, he was not,_

_Brody spat to the side then looked directly into Bucky’s eyes, suddenly serious._

_“All I’m saying is, his dick must taste amazing to warrant all the attention.”_

_Bucky lost it and threw himself at Brody, landing a satisfying punch to the side of his face before the other three guys jumped in and tackled him to the ground. He was outmanned, outweighed, and outmaneuvered, but Bucky Barnes was a fighter and his fists were still swinging and he kicked out and heard some guy curse in agony and he swiped out and got someone else right in the gut and he could care less if he got the shit kicked out of him there was no way in hell they were going to talk about Steve like that right in front of him—_

_“Stop it! Bucky! Stop it, Brody! Matt! Scott—guys STOP IT!”_

_Bucky could feel strong hands pulling him out of the fray and he was still swinging wildly and he could feel stickiness dripping down from his eye but his blood was still boiling hot and he was going to kick their goddamn asses,_

_“Bucky STOP!”_

_It was Steve holding him back, shit, he was punching out at Steve and he tried to settle but he was still so angry and his vision was starting to clear out of his good eye—he could see the three assholes being shoved back by some other players and Brody was calling out,_

_“Goddamn punk came after us!”_

_And Bucky was straining against Steve trying to get back at them,_

_“BUCKY! Quit it! What the HELL is wrong with you?”_

_And Bucky suddenly looked up at Steve in shock because he didn’t think he had ever heard the guy swear in his entire life, and suddenly the whole thing just seemed so ridiculous and God he didn’t want Steve involved in any part of this._

_“They’re just fucking assholes man,” he murmured and brought his hand up to try and stem some of the blood that was flowing from his nose, Jesus his eye was already completely swollen shut and it hurt like Hell and Steve was talking again—_

_“Then don’t hang around the damn football fields if you don’t want to deal with them. Jeez Buck—it’s not rocket science.”_

_His tone was full of irritation and annoyance and Bucky couldn’t stop the sudden waves of shame and humiliation that were cascading over him and threatening to pull him under, but he reined it in and went for nonchalance and disinterest in his retort,_

_“Yeah man, I got that loud and clear,” and his mouth filled with blood from the talking so he spit it out to the side and managed to walk back to the dorms in silence while trying desperately not to cry as Steve brooded and marched along beside him._

_He stopped going to football practices after that._

 

* * *

 

Bucky and Steve were meandering slightly aimlessly down the city street when he finally decided to speak up again.

“Hey so, I really wouldn’t mind changing out of my suit and what not before heading out again, and there’s a great little hole in the wall place out by my apartment if you don’t mind a small commute?”

Steve looked over and laughed. “Yeah—sounds great. Leave me in the suit while you get to chill all comfy cozy.”

“Shit, no I didn’t mean that. I’m sure I have something you could wear if you wanted? Or…” Bucky was berating himself internally now; he just turned this into a massively awkward conversation without intending to at all, “I mean, we can totally stay around here, I don’t mind…”

“No! That sounds great. And you can show me your new place and everything!”

“Wow, you sound way too excited about that. It’s a shit-hole. Don’t get your hopes up or anything.”

“Hey, anything to get me out of the dead center of the city for a bit,” and just like that he swung his arm back around Bucky’ shoulders like they were attracted by some invisible enormous magnetic force, and maybe they really were because Bucky could feel the thrumming of his heartbeat sending happy little jolts of electricity down his arms and legs, so he leaned in just a little—

 —before remembering where the hell he was. He ducked out of the hold gracefully and motioned with his head,

“Metro station is right over there.”

“Oh, right.” Steve had shoved his hands back in his pockets and Bucky sighed. They quickly made their way down the stairs and caught the first train.

“Hey, Buck?”

“Yup.”

“Can I ask you a personal question?”

Bucky felt himself start to sweat again, and Jesus did the guy seriously want to start out the night this way, now that they were already on the damn metro, and there was no escaping?

“Uh…”

“Are you in treatment for your alcohol problem?”

Bucky turned and looked Steve right in the eyes before bursting out laughing, and then laughed harder as he watched Steve literally morph in to ‘hurt puppy dog face’ before his eyes and oh God this was hilarious, he tried to stop laughing

“It’s a serious question Buck! No one in your family knows for sure and your Dad already hates me enough right now with the whole Rebecca situation, and I don’t need to be the one dragging you out for a night of fun only to set you off down some crazy bender, and I just want to know the situation and maybe we should just stay in tonight—”

Bucky sobered up at the mention of his family. “Jesus Christ,” he interrupted, “Oh my God it has been one day and I cannot take one more second of my goddamn family! Steve,”

Steve was looking down at the mucked up floor of the subway car, so Bucky threw his hands down on top of his knees and Steve looked up again in surprise,

“Steve. Come on, man. I’m not an alcoholic.”

Confusion and relief were playing out in Steve’s eyes and Bucky maintained the contact, hands gripping knees.

“But, your whole family said…I mean your Dad tonight…you were drinking water!”

“Yeah man. Because if I have one drink with the family around I’ll probably lose all self control and’ll end up finishing off a bottle and spending the night puking in my mother’s prized guest bathroom with all of them looking on, judging, and having one more reason to think I am worthless crap.” He fought to keep the bitterness out of his voice, he really did. “Yeah, I had my problems in high school. But I’m certainly not an alcoholic, I’m certainly not in treatment, and Christ, I don’t need you watching out for me!”

His mouth was dry, and he was actually finding it hard keep staring Steve right in the eyes as he practically lied right to his face, but he didn’t have an alcohol problem and hell if he was going to admit any differently to a guy who he hadn’t seen for five years, a guy who had given up on him and written him off, and hadn’t even tried to contact him even after everything they had gone through together, shit why did he have to bring all this up now—

“I’m really sorry Buck. I didn’t know. I’m really sorry for bringing it up.” And for Christ’s sake the guy was just so damn sincere and what did it really matter anyways, how could he possibly be even remotely upset when he had those watery pools of blue to stare into, to watch himself reflect back endlessly in blue, blue, blue

“Oh hell, I need a beer.”

Steve grinned.

“First rounds’ on me,” and he playfully punched him in the shoulder and Bucky couldn’t help but just forgive him of all wrong doings in one fell swoop.

 

* * *

 

_Nothing stayed the same after that. Steve still went to football practice every day like the good little soldier he was, and he was sociable, and popular, and palled around constantly with the goddamn assholes who were making Bucky’s life a living hell day in and day out,  
_

_“Hey queer.” *vicious shove into the side of the wall*_

_“Hey it’s the cocksucker!”_

_“Hey Barnes! You smell like shit, been letting Rogers fuck you again?”_

_And he tried to hold it together, he really did because Steve had no idea what was going on—Steve WILL NOT know what is going one—but God Damn It All every time they brought his name back into it he found himself back in the middle of a fight._

_His fists were constantly bruised and bloodied and he was starting to draw in upon himself, walking around with a surly ‘get the fuck out of my way’ strut and trying desperately just to get from class to class without running in to any of the douche bag football team, and to be quite honest—half of his class could care less about what the assholes were saying about him, it was 2010, so friggin’ what if he was gay but here’s the thing—_

_He was starting to think he really might be. He didn’t look at guys though. He wasn’t like…drawn to dicks. But he was also starting to lose interest in girls entirely.  Of course, breasts were still awesome. They would always be awesome. But he had no desire to be anywhere near any of the girls at school in any sort of sexual way. Really, the only thing he could think about anymore at all was Steve. And that was a problem. It was a huge problem._

_Steve was most definitely 100% absolutely positively not gay._

_And here was the next massive horrible terrible worst thing ever problem:_

_If his family EVER even got the remote assumption that he might not be a perfect, right down the center line, ace in the hole, straight dude with intentions of marrying some gorgeous chick and having a perfect, right down the center line, ace in the hole family completely with gorgeous, carry-on-the-Barnes-name children, then he would probably be disowned, cut out of the family, and never spoken to again._

_His father was George Barnes. There wouldn’t be any other way._

_So really, there it was. He could think about it all he wanted. He could remember Steve’s head fitting perfectly on his shoulder, and imagine an embrace that might never end, and picture exactly what the inside of his mouth might taste like…_

_But he couldn’t be gay so he wasn’t._

_So instead he started hiding out in the library during all of his breaks, and avoiding Steve whenever he could manage, and drinking large quantities of liquor at nights to numb the feeling of desperation and self hatred and wrongness that was permeating his being._

_For Steve’s part, he was mostly just pissed off. He tried, he really did, to get Bucky to ‘come hang out,’ and ‘make some new friends,’ and ‘Jeez, just try a little!’ but Bucky just ignored him._

_And then one night Steve found him up in his dorm room completely wasted lying half naked in a pile of puke and completely lost it with him._

_Bucky was already far gone and his vision kept tunneling down, but he could see a figure standing in his doorway holding hand over mouth._

_“Steve?” He groaned, oh God his mouth tasted disgusting,_

_“Oh Buck.”_

_And there it was. That horrible, awful, ‘I’m so disappointed in you’ tone of voice that coming from the parentals’ was barely tolerable in it of itself, but coming from Steve just made him want to roll over and die._

_“Buck, your hand is bleeding, were you fighting again?”_

_“Shhhhh,” Bucky held his hand up to his lips but his arm felt like a dead weight, he giggled, “you should see the other guys…”_

_“Buck, please! You have to stop this! You have to at least try!”_

_Why was Steve so upset all of a sudden, it really wasn’t the end of the world, he did it all for Steve, why couldn’t he just see that it was always all for him?_

_“I know those guys can be jerks, but if you would at least try not to be a dick once in a while you would see that they just aren’t that bad—”_

_and Bucky jerked forward hand clawing for the now empty vodka bottle,_

_Steve plucked it up and threw it hard in to the trash,_

_“Can’t you see what you are doing to yourself?” He was getting worked up now—he was running his hands through his gorgeous blonde hair in complete exasperation, “Jesus Buck this is completely pathetic! You have everything! What the hell is the matter with you?”_

_Steve didn’t swear. Steve never swore. Bucky wanted to start crying. Bucky wanted Steve to hold him. Steve kicked some fallen notebooks out of the way and knelt down._

_“Buck. Come on. Look at me.”_

_His eyes were so blue. “…so blue…” oh shit he was mumbling things aloud now,_

_“Pull yourself together, man. I’ve got to get to the game. I was hoping you’d show up for once but…huh.” Steve barked a laugh but it sounded mournful. “Maybe I’ll see you later.”_

_He left. He walked out of the room. He closed the door. Bucky needed another drink. He needed something more to counteract the black viscous material that was slowly devouring his soul…_

 

* * *

 

The pub was actually pretty sweet, in a run down, smelly, some biker could show up any minute and fuck you up sort of way. Steve grinned as he watched Bucky walk up to the bar and order two beers, joking with the bartender like they were old pals. The guy sure hadn’t changed much—at least, from Steve’s good memories of him. He was outgoing, friendly, just had this way of immediately putting people around him at ease.

He looked around and noticed an empty pool table in the corner so headed that direction. By the time he had finished cueing up the balls, Buck had come up behind him and slammed two beers down on the table.

“You want the break?”

Steve grinned up at him “Of course I want the break. I’ll take any advantage I can get against you.”

Bucky wandered over and grabbed one of the cues from the rack. “Oh right, because I can stomp your ass in to the ground with my eyes closed. How could I forget?” He watched the two striped balls fly towards the pockets after the break.

“Hey. I’ve had some practice in the last five years. I’m just saying, you have kind of an unfair advantage with your advanced cybernetic metal arm there.”

Bucky grinned and flexed both of his arms. “Jeez. It’s just a metal rod insert. Pretty sure most people with bad fractures in their lives still have some sort of metal holding their bones together. But while we’re on the subject, I did forget to tell you that for the last few years I have actually been in hiding in a secret government lab where they did all sorts of experiments on the arm and outfitted it with all sorts of super awesome weaponry. I’m now a top level assassin for a covert operations group. Also, I’m a pool champion.”

Steve looked up. “Right. That all makes perfect sense. And obviously you’ve infiltrated the George Barnes campaign for some clandestine purpose?”

Bucky cracked a grin. “Obviously. To retrieve my Captain.” Then he barked a laugh and sunk three colored balls in a row.

Steve groaned. “Like I said…metal arm.”

They continued through a game, stopping at one point for a beer refill and chatted the hours away. Steve couldn’t believe how easy it all felt, how in sync they still were after all these years. The last time he had seen Bucky he was a wreck of a human being, and he still felt a gnawing pit in his stomach when he thought about how they had left things. But it seemed that Bucky was trying just as hard as he was to put the past behind him and they fell into their old schoolboy friendship like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Another game passed, and another round of drinks, and Steve was feeling delightfully warm and fuzzy when his phone started ringing. He looked down to see a picture of Rebecca and groaned. He did not want to deal with this right now, not at all—

he noticed Bucky looking over at him.

“I just, why does she have to be so difficult all the time? I can’t figure out what she even wants from me.”

Bucky nodded.

“Yeah. I get it. But just cut her some slack, you know? She may act like she’s got her shit together more than the rest of us, but at the core of it all she’s still a Barnes. She still has the same fucked up need to please Mom and Dad that Andrew and I do.”

Steve looked slightly mollified. “I know. I love her man, I really do right? I just…sometimes I just feel like she is using me for something.”

Bucky looked like he was going to say something more, but then just picked up the chalk.

“Ehh, it’s just women. She’ll get over it in a few days. Just buy her some flowers or something.”

Steve laughed. “And there he is ladies and gentlemen. The amazing Bucky Barnes, who clearly is incapable of having any sort of emotional attachment to a relationship ever!”

Bucky rolled his eyes and sunk the last ball, ending the game. “You got it Cap! But seriously, she’s my sister. What more d’you want me to say? I could probably dig up some naked bath time photos that you could circulate to the media if you wanted to play the total abject mortification card…”

“Ha! Yeah, that would be a fantastic way to worm back into her good graces …”

“Well you’re the one who _asked_ for my opinion!”

They racked up the balls again and Steve snuck a look over at Buck—watched his long hair fall over his eyes, watched his arms grip the sides of the table, watched him study the angles. He wasn’t unfamiliar with the warm sensation that was spreading through his chest, but it was something he hadn’t felt in a very long time, something he only felt with Bucky, like two perfect halves completing each other.

“Why are you staring at me?”

Steve shook his head as if to clear it. “Just studying up on your little tricks, metal boy. This time I’m taking you down.”

 

* * *

 

_He had left his damn History text book inside his gym locker. It wasn’t that big of a deal, really, but he had an hour to get the stupid homework done before he had a meeting with his English professor and he kind of needed the stupid thing to manage. The bigger problem was, he left the book inside his gym locker, which was in the locker room in the gymnasium building, and it was after hours and there was no one around and football practice was due out any minute and more than likely Steve Rogers would be marching his ass down to get changed and showered and who the hell knew what else in the same locker room and hell if Bucky planned on getting in long conversation with him during the process about the virtues of abstaining from alcohol until the mature age of twenty-one._

_But he had left the damn book there, and he really needed to get that work done, and so he booked it down the steps and tried to ignore the theatrical voices in his head that were doing their best to convince him of the striking similarities of the locker-room to a dark and dismal dungeon._

_He made it over to his locker and quickly did the combination, grabbing out the text and shoving it in his backpack, when he heard voices._

_“Well look here. It’s the Barnes family faggot.”_

_He slammed his locker closed then turned around to face Brody._

_“Do you ever get tired of following me around? Seems like you’re the one obsessed with dick there, Brody.”_

_He watched Brody’s eyes narrow and then looked behind him and counted five other guys standing menacingly behind him. Well shit. This wasn’t going to end well. Normally he only had to face down a couple of them at a time, and that was in the well lit halls of the high school where teachers did occasionally show their faces to execute some form of authority. Right now, he was stuck in a dark locker room with one exit that was blocked by six angry looking football players who each outranked him rather largely in the muscle mass department. Shit._

_He glanced to the side of him quickly just to reorient himself and try to find the ‘higher ground’ so to speak. This was going to end in a fight one way or another and he could use any advantage he could get._

_“You know Barnes? We’re all getting REAL tired of your foul mouth. Even Roger’s is fed up with you at this point.”_

_Bucky felt his chest constrict and suddenly found it hard to breathe._

_Brody smiled and continued. “What, you think he hasn’t complained about your little…issues to us? You think he isn’t fed up with always having to babysit you, constantly making sure you don’t accidentally off yourself?”_

_Bucky could feel heat spreading from his neck down his torso. Steve talked about him. Steve seriously was talking about him to these assholes like he was nothing—like he was some irritating clingy bitch—_

_“If you would just leave the guy alone he’d be so much happier. You’re dragging him down. It’s kind of pathetic you know?” Brody stepped forward, the other guys following. “We figured we’d at least do you the courtesy of letting you know.”_

_Bucky was sweating now. He was actually feeling kind of scared, a sentiment that he tried to push down. He was a good fighter but he couldn’t take six guys at once. He was really starting to wish Steve **would** make an appearance—he sure as fuck didn’t want him involved in this at all, but there was no way these guys would actually keep this up if he was around, was there? _

_He watched the guys slowly advance on him and made a split second decision._

_“Fuck. You.”_

_And he bolted straight towards them, trying desperately to make a break for the stairs. He wasn’t going to fight them, he was going to run and feel like shit about it later, but he’d be alive and maybe—_

_He ran smack in to one of the guys who let out an exclamation in sudden surprise and he tried to push his way through, oh this was a really really bad idea why the hell would he think that he was going to make it through a wall of linebackers who train daily for this sort of thing, he was almost through, one guy grabbed his shoulder and he twisted back and landed a punch straight on his nose, he could feel the thing break under his fist and he could hear a yelp of pain and surprise—the guy let go and was swearing, and he was seriously about to make it up the stairs—_

_—and someone got a hold of the damn backpack and yanked him backwards and suddenly they were all on top of him and there was no air to even breathe and he was still fighting and kicking and yelling at the top of his lungs hoping that someone, anyone would hear him and come to help._

_The guys were all landing punches and kicking at his ribs and it hurt like hell but he sure as shit wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction of knowing that. They started dragging him towards the shower stalls and fuck that, he wasn’t going to get pinned down back there surrounded by walls on all sides with nowhere to run and he snapped his head back and it amazingly connected with someone who cursed and he actually managed to wriggle free just enough to break his hands free and get up to his knees before someone’s fist caught him right in the temple and he was down again, this time dizzy and fighting to keep his eyes open—they felt so heavy all of a sudden—he knew he needed to get out of here and keep fighting but shit his head was pounding,_

_“Jesus, get him down already!”_

_He thought that was Brody talking, he couldn’t tell anymore, they were all cussing and swearing and he was splayed out on his stomach and tried to move but suddenly realized that there was at least one guy  sitting on top of him and it actually hurt like hell because he was pretty sure that he had a few cracked ribs by now._

_He couldn’t breathe._

_He couldn’t breathe and he felt another couple of guys grab his legs and hold on tightly and then the guy sitting on his torso reached over and fisted his hand through his hair and yanked his head up. He was gasping for air, and his head hurt, and there was blood sheeting down the side of his face, his arms were scrabbling for purchase underneath him—to try and relieve some of the pressure from his head and neck, and then someone grabbed the left one and stretched it out._

_“Shit, for a queer you sure can put up a fight,” the guy perched on his back pulling at his hair drawled, “what are we going to have to do to make you realize you lose?”_

_Bucky was still trying to breathe—every inhalation was complete agony right now, his throat was stretched up and he couldn’t move, and everything hurt, and there were three guys pinning him down and it was humiliating and fuck he was really terrified now. They were not going to let this drop; they were out to prove a point,_

_the guy holding on to his hair yanked up even further and Bucky could see Brody standing over him._

_“Huh. What do you think Barnes? What’s it going to take?”_

_Bucky tried to swallow around his tongue which felt too big for his mouth and tasted like blood and spit the words out between clenched jaws,_

_“Eat shit Brody.”_

_Brody just laughed and Bucky kept trying to get in enough air and suddenly someone piped up from the corner,_

_“Dude fucking broke my nose—we’re sure as hell going to make sure he isn’t swinging those fists anytime soon,”_

_and Bucky could just barely see past Brody where the guy stood, blood gushing down his face, and he was holding a baseball bat, and shit this bad, this was really bad,_

_“Pull his arm out tight guys,”_

_and Bucky was struggling as hard as he could, oh Christ, they were going to use that thing on him, and he bucked hard and the one on his back suddenly slammed his head down on to the concrete floor and now there was blood filling his mouth, he was going to gag on it, then he felt them turn his head to the side and he could suddenly see the guy holding on to his left wrist and he could feel him pulling his arm tight,_

_"Fuck…fuck you…don’t…fuck you… **please don’t**!” Oh shit he was begging now,_

_“Well looks like finally we taught the cocksucker some manners,”_

_and he watched the bat come down, almost in slow motion, and he felt the bones in his arm shatter and suddenly he could hear screaming and yelling and shit that was himself screaming, and then the bat came down again and he started crying and that was the kicker because Bucky Barnes wasn’t a pussy and Bucky Barnes didn’t cry and everything felt so foggy all of a sudden—he was so dizzy and nauseous and he could hear yelling in the background and then there was no more weight on top of him holding him down so he curled up and just focused on breathing and tried not to think about the jagged lines of fiery pain that were blazing down his arm, just breathing in blue._

_"Oh my God, Bucky!! Oh my god, oh god, oh god, what did you guys do?”_

_That sounded like Steve, it had to be Steve, Cap came for him finally, he could feel hands on him,_

_“Buck, buck, can you hear me? Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit”_

_Steve couldn’t see him like this, Steve couldn’t be here, he pulled himself upright and pushed backwards against the wall and a wave of nausea hit him like a brick wall and he couldn’t feel his left arm so he looked down and he could see blood everywhere and little shards of bone sticking out and he leaned over to the side and hurled up everything in his stomach, his vision was coming and going and he thought he might be blacking out,_

_“Yes, yes the gymnasium at Episcopal High School, yeah 1200 N Quaker Lane, please hurry!”_

_Steve was on his phone oh everything hurt so much, he tried to take a breath in and it turned in to a gasp and then he couldn’t stop himself, he just kept crying and clawing at his eyes and his arm was burning and sobs of humiliation and shame and utter pain were wracking his body and he was starting to shake and Steve was suddenly right next to him murmuring,_

_“It’s ok Buck, it’s ok, I’m so sorry, I didn’t know, it’s going to be ok.”_

**_************_ **

_By the time they got him to the hospital they had him so dosed up on painkillers he had no idea where he was. They rushed him straight in to surgery for his arm where they had to open it up and replace parts of the bone with metal plates, pins and rods. That was the worst of it. Everything else would heal in time—a few cracked ribs, hairline fracture to the cheek bone, and deep bruising._

_What didn’t heal was the complete and total shame he now carried with him. Shame of being unable to defend himself. Shame of Steve finding him like that. Shame of who he was. That stayed with him like a putrid open lesion—one that he continuously poked and prodded. He absolutely despised himself._

_Steve stayed with him in the hospital—sat by his bed the whole time. He was visibly shaken and upset. He apologized about a thousand times for being so naïve, for not knowing what those guys were doing, for not being a better friend. Every time he opened his mouth to talk Bucky would roll to the other side and ignore him. Being near Steve now was like rubbing salt into the wound. He couldn’t handle it, he couldn’t deal with any of it, he just wanted Steve to go away, to leave him in his own misery._

_Luckily the painkillers they prescribed him for his arm were more than an ample substitute for liquor he was sorely missing._

Save

Save


	5. Won't Do You No Good

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again--thank you so much for reading and commenting!

For the rest of the week, Bucky was so far buried in meetings and paperwork he hardly had any time to think about his night out with Steve. Even though he was technically the one in charge of the interns and, according to the initial job description, should have been heading up their various projects—he seemed to be sent out almost constantly on an unending string of trivial errands by Andrew, who was always popping up anytime Bucky got anywhere near overseeing any data of actual import. He spent his evenings finalizing finance reports and coordinating the intern workers schedules for the next morning. His personal to-do list was ever growing, compounded by the simple fact that he was never actually in the office enough to take care of any of it. He finally confronted Andrew about the situation the Thursday before the formal announcement and was pleased when it actually seemed to fluster his older brother.

“Oh, uh…let’s chat out in the hall for a moment.” Andrew gestured slightly and Bucky followed him out the office door.

“Look, I’m not trying to put you on the spot or anything but, I have a job to do here and I haven’t been able to sit down in the office in front of the computer for more than an hour straight since I got here. Running up and down the suburbs of D.C. collecting raw polling data and picking up press materials is not really in my job description.”

Andrew suddenly seemed extremely interested in some small speck of dirt on the wood flooring. “Yes, well, I’m sorry about that, we just needed someone we could trust on it…”

“Andrew.” Bucky motioned behind him. “You have an entire office full of over-eager interns sitting in there just dying to do something besides seal envelopes. I think you could probably come up with a better excuse if you tried for more than half a second.”

“Well, they have only been here for a few days; some of them don’t even know D.C. that well—”

Bucky interrupted, “Look, the blatant fact of the matter is, I can’t get any of the work I’m supposed to have done finished if you keep sending me on all these little chores. I have stacks of paperwork piling up on my desk and I’m barely getting in three hours of sleep a night right now because I have to wait until I get home in the evenings to even start in on it."

“Oh!” Andrew sounded genuinely surprised. “Bucky, you don’t need to worry about the finance stuff—I’ve taken care of the basic operations funding from day one and I already have all of the spreadsheet templates updating on my own hard drive. You don’t need to—”

“Hold up.” Bucky was starting to feel apprehensive, a slivering wisp of suspicion slowly grasping hold. “Why would _you_ be taking care of the basic operations funding?”

Now Andrew was _definitely_ not looking him in the eyes. “Um, I just…um, I had some extra time? You know I like running numbers…”

“Bullshit.”

“Bucky, it’s really not a big deal…”

Realization hit him straight in the chest and he struggled to maintain composure. “Did Dad put you up to this? He doesn’t trust me to do this job does he? Why the hell would he hire me if he didn’t want me doing the job Andrew?”

His older brother was standing there looking completely lost and forlorn. “I…shit Bucky. I’m sorry. It’s not that we don’t trust you—”

“Oh now it’s ‘we’? You don’t trust me either. Great. Fucking fantastic. Where the hell is he right now?”

“Bucky, he’s really busy, the announcement is tomorrow night, I think he may be meeting with press right—”

“Where. The Hell. Is He.” Bucky practically spat out the words. He was so angry, so full of black glutinous vitriol that was threatening to erupt at any moment.

“Umm, I think in his office. Second floor.”

“Right.”

Bucky turned and made his way up the stairs.

 

* * *

 

_Going back to school was hell on earth. Bucky’s face was still a bruised up swollen mess and his arm was noticeably in a cast and sling—completely useless—so of course everyone was talking. Some crazy story surfaced about the attack in the locker room and although Bucky refused to confirm or give up any names of people involved in the incident, word got out that it was part of the football squad and the entire team ended up being called into the Headmaster’s office to be formally admonished and given a weeklong suspension.  
_

_The guys didn’t come after him after that—they all had Ivy League aspirations and they weren’t stupid enough to throw everything away for some ‘punk ass kid’—but that didn’t stop them from the constant verbal abuse. Occasionally one or two of them would come up silently behind Bucky, then suddenly grab his shoulder, or throw a hand over his mouth, even just give him a playful shove towards the lockers. It was nothing a professor was going to butt in over—to an outsider’s perspective it really just looked like ‘boys being boys’—but ever since the attack, Bucky’s anxiety was at its breaking point. The teammates knew it, and they loved taking full advantage of it. He would try to control himself—he could hold it together most the time if he just concentrated on taking small contained breaths and coiled his worry and stress snugly around himself—but when they came up behind him like that he would whirl about, the tightly wound thread snapping. His pupils would dilate and his breathing would hitch and try as he might he couldn’t control it anymore. The guys would usually just laugh and make their way down the hall and Bucky would get to the nearest bathroom stall he could find and puke up anything he had managed to eat in the day._

_He hated it. He hated how weak he was, how terrified he was all the time, how small he felt. Liquor helped, but the pain pills he had been given for his arm were even better. He would pop a few—swallow them down with a gulp of cheap vodka from a water bottle he always carried—and that would mellow him out enough to get through the next few hours._

_Steve, for his part, was suddenly around more and more. He still carried the guilt of what had happened and was desperate to be there for his friend. Bucky let him, but he no longer tried to hide any of the substance abuse from him. Steve was despondent over it—he screamed, and yelled and once tried dumping out all the liquor stashed around the room while Bucky just cursed and swore at him but nothing worked. He just couldn’t find it in himself to care what Steve thought anymore—it just didn’t make any difference._

_He was not in the best of shape when Christmas break finally came around._

 

* * *

 

George Barnes was sitting in his custom-made Fritz Hansen Oxford office chair when Bucky threw open the door to the office and stormed inside. George glanced over briefly, then turned back to his monitor on the desk.

“Listen, Pierce? I’m going to have to call you back. Yes. Thank you.”

He gently hung up the phone, then swiveled around to look at Bucky.

“I do believe that I mentioned to Andrew that I would be on business calls for the next few hours and that my schedule would be unavailable for staff meetings?”

Bucky snorted. “Staff huh Dad? I just had an…enlightening chat with Andrew. About my _duties_ as the George Barnes Campaign Office Manager.”

There was the slightest crinkling in the folds around George’s eyes, but otherwise he stayed quite still. “That boy doesn’t know how to keep his mouth shut.”

“Well so glad to hear that I am not the only one who occasionally fucks things up for you, Dad.” Bucky was trying so hard to keep himself in check, to maintain control. “Why the hell did you hire me if you didn’t actually want me to contribute anything?”

“Sit down, James.” George motioned to the smaller chair next to his desk.

“I’d rather stand.”

“I said, _sit. down_.” The man spoke with all the finality and authority of a presidential figure. Bucky slowly lowered himself into the chair.

“Now, I know you are not a complete idiot.” George spoke with a sneering immediacy to his tone.

“Gosh Dad, thanks _so_ much for the vote of confi—”

George held up his hand and continued speaking. “Do _not_ continue to interrupt me James. As I was saying. Not a complete idiot, though I have frequently had my doubts. Listen closely. You are a troublesome and rebellious alcoholic with narcotic dependencies and certain anger management issues.”

Bucky felt himself go cold all over and realized he was gripping the arms of the chair so tightly he was losing circulation.

“You will absolutely not have a hand in the running of any part of this campaign with that background.”

He held up his hand again as Bucky opened his mouth to speak.

“Now. You are also a Barnes. It is far more beneficial to my polling numbers to have all of my family members and descendants actively participating in and being part of all aspects of the campaign than it does to publicly disown one. You were brought into this campaign in title only. Andrew and one of our interns will be covering for all of the actual job description. You will show up to work, fiddle around on the computer, then make happy little appearances at all press events looking like a fully supportive Barnes. Do you understand?”

Bucky felt sick to his stomach. He intentionally kept his grip on the arm rests, knowing that if he released his hands now he might actually punch his father in the face.

“I have a degree Dad. I am not some worthless piece of crap. I have a degree!” He was fighting to keep his voice from shaking.

“Yes, yes, I am well aware. And you have a history of substantial fuck-ups.”

“And if I just leave now? I don’t have to go along with any of this shit you know. I will happily pack up tonight and—”

“Go right ahead. I will personally release statements to all of the press regarding your substance abuse in high school. And through college.”

Bucky looked sharply up.

“All of the therapy, the stint in rehab, the inevitable relapse, all of it. I would also be happy to pass along an unsatisfactory report to any and all future job prospects.”

He felt himself gaping up at his father. All of his work, all of those years in Michigan, all of _this_ , for nothing? “Dad.” Bucky felt the word slip brokenly from his lips. “Why?”

“Or, I have an alternative. You suck it up, do what I ask, and I will happily write you glowing letters of recommendation of which, may I remind you, you don’t particularly deserve from me in light of your past activities against my senate record. You will actually have a fantastic political career ahead of you after this campaign. You will continue to represent the Barnes family legacy.”

Bucky felt his resolve crumbling to dust between his fingertips. He had known this whole thing was too good to be true. His father had despised him since his senior year of high school…since their falling out over the repeal. Why the hell else would George welcome him back into the fold with no strings attached? Stupid. So stupid. He found himself slowly, painfully, nodding along.

“You are a terrible father. You know?”

George’s eyebrows raised the finest of hairs as he continued to pin Bucky down with the power of his stare.

“Fine.  I’ll show up. Just know that once this campaign is over I’m done with this family for good.”

George sighed. “Oh James. Always with the melodramatics. Look at this from a political perspective. You have something to offer me, and I have something in exchange for it.”

Bucky glared at him as he pushed himself up from the chair.

“Oh. James. One more thing.”

“What.”

“The announcement is tomorrow night in front of all the national news and media personnel. Take this afternoon and go get your hair cut. You will absolutely not be looking like some overgrown pot smoking hippy while representing this family.”

“Yes sir,” Bucky muttered, then turned and walked back out of the room.

 

* * *

 

_He was laying on top of this bed staring at the ceiling and enjoying the warm, fuzzy lassitude sweeping over his senses while contemplating popping one more of the giant opiate horse pills his doctor had prescribed him when Steve appeared in the door frame.  
_

_“Buck?”_

_Bucky slowly rolled over onto his right side and propped his head up on his good arm._

_“Mmmm? What’s up?”_

_Steve crossed the room in a few quick steps and sat down on the bed next to him._

_“Jesus Buck. Are you high again?”_

_For some reason, Bucky could actually feel shame start to spiral out in little pulses through his chest. He knew what a fucked up mess he was. He knew what happened at school if he didn’t constantly mute the anxiety with the pills. But it was break—two days before Christmas—and his parents were out at some convention showing their support for some hotshot new Republican in congress and Rebecca was out somewhere with friends and he knew Steve was coming over to actually hang out and talk and hopefully piece together some semblance of normalcy from their slowly shattering friendship._

_He **knew** Steve hated it when he was on pills, but his arm was just killing him so he just broke down and he took one. The scars from the surgery were constantly itching and pulling tight with every movement, but it was inside the skin, as the bone and metal started growing together, that was sending fiery bursts of pain jolting through his body. So he took one. _

_He looked down at the dark blanket on his bed and mumbled,_

_“ ‘m sorry Steve. It…everything…it just hurts right now. Sorry.”_

_Steve laid down and curled up next to him, keeping his arm tucked in between their chests, careful—always so careful—to not brush his left side. He fit so perfectly up against him. It suddenly felt like they were kids again and determined to spend the entire night outside in the train car because they were superheroes dammit and sometimes superheroes needed to spend a night in the cold holed up while they were waiting for the bad guys to come but even superheroes got cold and had to curl up against each other for warmth,_

_“Buck? Buck?!”_

_Shit, his mind was drifting off again…_

_“Buck! You don’t have to apologize…God. I’m the one who should be sorry. Look—if it’s hurting you should absolutely take the pills—that’s what the doctor gave them to you for. I’m sorry man. I…”_

_He paused as if fighting for the right words._

_“I just don’t like seeing you hurting. And dependent on…or feeling like…you have to rely on pills to get you through a day? You know what I mean?”_

_He was speaking in to Bucky’s chest, had curled his head up there and Bucky could feel the vibrations of his voice reverberating deep in his chest and God he wished more than anything that they were twelve and fourteen again and none of this shit had happened. He wished more than anything that Steve would poke his head up and offer to sketch him and Bucky would oblige, sneaking glances every now and then of that tousled blonde hair falling into blue eyes, those pensive, thoughtful creases Steve would get in his forehead as he carefully studied the page looking for errors, and maybe Bucky would make some smart-ass comment just to see that smile, just to listen to the glorious bell tones of his laugh,_

_it was the pills, he thought. It had to be the pills…_

_“Steve?” he whispered, and Steve poked his head up and looked directly into his eyes and Bucky moved forward and their lips were suddenly touching, they were amazingly touching and he snaked his right hand up behind Steve’s head and pushed forward more insistently his heart abruptly threatening to tear itself right out of his chest, Steve’s mouth fit so perfectly—so softly—against his own, and the moment felt so right and so flawless and so blue,_

_and Bucky’s eyes flew open as Steve pushed violently away and jumped off of the bed holding his hand up to his mouth, breathing hard,_

_“Oh fuck. Oh fuck, oh fuck, Steve I’m sorry,” Bucky managed to stammer out, heart throwing itself up against his chest aggressively trying to break free of its confines and there was still just the smallest sliver of hope, oh no, oh shit what did he just do,_

_“Umm…” Steve looked wildly around, lost for words, backing up slowly,_

_“Steve, wait, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…it was the pills man, I didn’t mean—”_

_“It’s fine Buck…umm… I just…I guess I didn’t realize that you were actually gay…I mean, the guys on the team all said…I just didn’t realize…”_

_Bucky felt like his entire body was being hit with that baseball bat back in the locker room, like everything was shattering inside of him, shame and despair and utter humiliation leeching forth and he was trying hard not to cry,_

_“The guys…from the team…” he stammered out_

_“Oh, I mean,they are assholes, but I mean…they kept telling me you were gay,and I just didn’t realize—”_

_“Steve, I fucked up…it was the pills…”_

_Steve held up his hand as if to stop him, “No, Buck! It’s fine, it’s really fine…It’s fine if you are! I’m…I’m just not like that…”_

_and his heart was breaking in his chest, there was no moving past this, his heart was filling with shards of bone and metal,_

_“Hey, uh, I should get going…I forgot about…this errand I need to run…” Steve suddenly bent over at his backpack and shuffled around a bit then stood up and pressed a folder full of papers into Bucky’s hand._

_“These were for you, uhh, Happy Christmas you know? I’ll see you soon…”_

_and just like that he was gone from the room and Bucky didn’t know what to do, he didn’t know what just happened, why would he do that, what was wrong with him, why would he think—_

_the folder fell out of his hand and drawings spilled out all over the carpet—drawings of the train fort and of Bucky lying down with a book and of Steve and Bucky laughing together and of Bucky with his eyes closed, and of Bucky leaning back against the wooden paneling and looking at something far in the distance and of Bucky and of Bucky and of Bucky and there was a note penned in Steve’s quick hand:_

_and he started to cry._

 

* * *

 

Rebecca was sorting files into various cubby holes against the wall of the office when Bucky walked back into the room looking pissed as all hell and missing a good four inches of hair.

“Holy Shit who the hell are you and what did you do with my nineties era Trent Reznor-channeling brother?”

Bucky shot her a look of death and self-consciously raised his hand to touch his shortened mane.

“Seriously Bex don’t go there right now.”

She laughed and reached her hands up to his head to tangle her fingers in the short curls.

“Don’t get me wrong—grunge suited you. But damn Bucky, this is even better!”

She turned her head briefly and called over her shoulder,

“Steve! Steve get over here quick!” Bucky ducked out of her grip.

“Come on Bex, don’t rub it in…”

This was hilarious! He was so uncomfortable, so painfully self-conscious without the hair to hide behind, to look all menacing behind,

“Steve seriously get over her now!”

“I’m coming!” She heard from over a monitor from the far corner. She turned back to Bucky, still grinning.

“So who the hell put you up to this, you clown?”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Who do you think? _Big important media filled announcement tonight son…”_ he mimicked George.

“Yeah, that totally figures,” she said. “Well, sorry you had to lose your whole tall, dark and mysterious persona you had going there but really, it does look good, Steven Grant Rogers get over here!”

“I’m coming!” he yelled from the corner.

“Oh my God, he is such a pain in my ass, come here,” she grabbed Bucky and dragged him back to the corner where Steve was busy transcribing phone numbers into an outdated Excel document. He paused for a moment,

“I said I was coming Rebecca,” and then looked up and froze.

                “Oh. wow. Buck.”

Rebecca looked back and forth between the two idiots and sighed dramatically.

 “Jesus, you two should be in the drama program. I swear there is more emotional tension between the two of you then any gay guys I have ever met.”

Bucky suddenly threw her a look of death and…something else she couldn’t quite peg… and she stuck both hands up in mock surrender.

“Woah…heel Kujo. I’m kidding…God!” She moved over to Steve and perched herself right in his lap—the guy was so convenient to have around, like a big, fluffy, overgrown teddy bear.

“Seriously though Steve—he looks like highschool Bucky again!”

Steve nodded slowly. “Yeah. You look…real good Buck.”

She smiled, content that she had gotten the exact shocked and ruffled display of emotions out of him that she had been going for. It was super fun, all this emoting nonsense. Whenever she got bored of being a drama queen, or just felt like no one was currently paying her enough attention, she would maneuver some series of random events to try and make someone else produce a suitably theatrical emotion. Lately, she was getting really good at it. Worryingly good at it. Chalk it up to her genetic Barnes ability to manipulate.

“Oh hey, Bucky?” She suddenly spoke again, “What are you up to tonight? Any amazing plans? I mean, obviously I don’t want to hinder your ability to roam free and wild and maybe try something new by picking up chicks of the ‘not into the greasy, strung-out, most likely addicted to heroin’ variety, but if you are free—”

“Christ, Bex, cut it out. It’s just a frickin’ haircut,”

“No, no I know, I just thought I’d see if you wanted to come with us tonight? Steve has this art show, well, I mean, The Art League—you know, out in Alexandria? They are the ones having the show, their annual student/faculty exhibit and Steve’s work will be there, well like six or eight pieces or something?”

She looked down at Steve for confirmation and he just was staring back at her with that completely moronic ‘deer in the headlights’ look of his that he seemed to reserve just for her,

“Well anyways, his art will be there and I thought you might like to join us? You know…see some of the stuff he has done…because seriously Bucky he’s really amazing and I know you used to appreciate stuff like that, at least back in high school you did, maybe your tastes chang—”

“Oh my God Bex,” Bucky cut in. “You would think they would teach you how to control that awful word-vomit habit of yours back at acting school or whatever. Yeah. Sure. I’d love to come with you guys. That alright with you?” He cocked his head at Steve.

Steve who was still gawking at her. Steve who practically had drool starting to drip from the corners of his mouth from the apparent massive case of lockjaw he appeared to have developed in the last two minutes. He shook his head suddenly and spun to look back at Bucky.

“Yeah—of course you can come,” he answered.

Bucky looked really happy. Rebecca was quite pleased with herself. Maneuvering. Easy-peasy. Now Bucky had something to do besides sit in misery in his cramped little ghetto apartment, and he even looked happy about it, and she did that! And Bucky was talking again, she really needed to start paying attention when other people started speaking…

“Ok, cool. When should I meet you guys there?”

Rebecca answered, “Oh, I think Steve will probably be there early on, but I am catching the metro around seven if you wanted to meet and go up together?”

“Perfect.” Bucky checked his watch then looked back at her. “Ok, I need to go find Andrew. I have a few issues I need to discuss with him…”

She watched him drop his stuff all behind the big desk and then head back out the door. Then she turned back to Steve, who still seemed to be having problems closing his mouth and breathing like a normal human being. She tapped his forehead.

“Hey. Earth to Steve. What the hell man?”

He looked back up at her.

“Sorry. I just…” He seemed to be fumbling for words. “I just wish you wouldn’t have invited him without talking to me first, you know? That stuff is kind of personal…”

“Steve, come on! It’s just Bucky. Anyways, I’ve seen the art, it’s just a bunch of pen and ink and shadowy people sitting in the dark. How personal could it be?”

Steve stiffed ever so slightly underneath her and she suddenly clapped a hand over her mouth and felt horrible.

“Oh my God Steve, I am so sorry. I am such an asshole. I didn’t mean it like that! Of course, it’s your art, it’s all personal, and it’s all really really good, I mean it! I am so sorry, Jesus sometimes I think you should just invest in a large roll of duct tape and keep it on you at all times so you can apply it liberally to my mouth as needed…”

“No, no Rebecca. It’s fine.”

She felt a wave of relief. She was such a giant bitch sometimes, but she really loved the guy. He was so easy going, and so willing to forgive her when she was being a horrible human being. She hated that about herself—that she could cut someone down that quickly and easily and not even realize she was doing it.

“I can un-invite him you know? It can just be the two of us, if that’s what you wanted?”

Steve looked her right in the eyes, his gaze intense, studying, like he was desperately trying to find the answer to life’s eternal mysteries in that specific moment of time.

“…no…” he answered slowly, “no, it will be fine. You are right, they aren’t that personal…it will be fine…”

She leaned over and kissed him.

“Thank you hun. He just, he looked so happy when I invited him, and I want him to be happy here and to have friends here, and really I just want you both to be friends again, I am SO happy you guys went out together the other night, I know I told you that already, but it is really so good for him,”

Steve reached out a finger to her lips.

“Rebecca. He _is_ fine. You have to stop worrying about fixing everyone in your family. You _have_ to. Worry about you. And if you have any extra time you can worry about me too.” He grinned. “Spend the time on us.” He kissed her again, and she felt giddy stars, because how could she not feel giddy stars every time she was remotely near beautiful, gorgeous, perfect Steve Rogers.


	6. Devil's Gonna Cut Me Free

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love to you all!! Thanks so much for your continuing comments, kudos and support. It keeps me going!
> 
> I absolutely meant to stick this all in my notes earlier and completely spaced! So the repeal that Bucky (and George) are talking about here is part of the actual court case involving Don't Ask Don't Tell. John McCain really DID present a list of signatures against repealing it to the court, which ServiceMembers United then disputed legitimacy of, pointing out that many of the signatures were from veterans who had no knowledge of their inclusion, and even included signatures from widows who signed their husband's names. So most of this did have (or at least attempted to have) a basis in fact :)
> 
> ALSO: The next two chapters really do feature Steve and Bucky together! I promise it!!! I know it has been a long wait--hang in there :) 
> 
> Many thanks again to my AMAZING beta reader [Lasenby_Heathcote](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Lasenby_Heathcote/works). She did a fantastic art review for Steve's show that inspired most of that scene and ALSO did his concept art for the 6 pen and ink pieces mentioned in the story! See bottom notes for the awesome art and stop by her [Tumblr](http://naomilasenby.tumblr.com/) :)

_In the fall of 2010, while the leaves slowly succumbed to the cold which leeched the color from their papery veins, and the warm golden evenings gave way to the bitter chill of winter’s soft fingertips, and long before everything came to an abrupt screaming end on the harsh locker room floor, James Barnes applied for college. He painstakingly filled in and sent out applications to the usual suspects—Harvard, Princeton and, of course, Yale, where he would no doubt be attending, and he looked over all of his essays and recommendations with a self-righteous pride._

_He was already planning to major in political science—his upbringing and familial path had all but guaranteed his success on that particular course—but even more importantly, he took a genuine interest in the field. He knew, with all the fervor and arrogant awareness of youth, that he was destined for great things—he was meant to change the world._

_He became particularly close to his history professor at the school, a man who encouraged him in all of his endeavors and expected him to think further than just the radical conservatism that ran rampant through the Barnes family. Professor Howard Stark was the first truly like-minded being that Bucky had ever met—the first teacher to undoubtedly take an interest in him and reach out. He was also the first openly gay man Bucky had ever associated with. He looked up to him with almost a religious idolatry and so desperately yearned to be as open and free and casual with his own beliefs, social and political. It was Professor Stark who suggested offhandedly that he consider the University of Michigan as an alternate option—‘the Harvard of the Midwest’ he frequently joked._

_“But I have to go to Yale!” Bucky protested._

_“Why?”_

_“It’s just Barnes tradition—all the men go to Yale, it has the best political science program, it’s where my Dad went, my brother just finished there this year, it’s the only school for me.”_

_“Is it?”_

_And so he found himself scrambling at the last minute to finish the application to Michigan, the night before it was due, because truth be told, the words of Howard Stark held far more sway over his life decisions than was really proprietary._

_He continued to meet with Professor Stark throughout the year after his classes each day. They followed most congressional hearings extremely closely together and Stark encouraged Bucky to formulate his own opinion on each particular matter—whether or not it toed the family line. It was in this way that Bucky slowly began to think for himself; to stop parroting back his bigoted father’s party propaganda, and to realize his own prowess. Even after the locker room incident—especially after the locker room incident—these meetings to discuss the state of the U.S. government were all that were holding him together. It gave him something solid to focus all of his intellect on—something solid to distract him from his life falling to shit around him._

_2010 was also a year of considerable stress for Senator George Barnes. A bill had made its way to the White House steps fighting for a repeal of the controversial ‘Don’t Ask Don’t Tell’ policy. It was gaining considerably traction among the liberals, and Senator Barnes was doing everything in his power to stamp it down. Barnes had worked closely with Clinton in the initial compromise over the bill and had also worked solidly to push George Bush into withdrawing the DADT directives. At a congressional hearing on February 2 nd regarding the repeal, Senator George Barnes read from a letter signed by over one thousand former general and flag officers. It stated: _

**_"We firmly believe that this law, which Congress passed to protect good order, discipline and morale in the unique environment of the armed forces, deserves continued support.”_ **

_Bucky had tried many times to draw his father into a conversation about the importance of a repeal. He was disgusted by his father’s back handed tactics, disgusted by his own association with the Senator, but had no idea how to express his opinion on the matter without being personally attacked._

_It all came to a head one evening over his spring break, at a typical Barnes family dinner. His father was once more lecturing them on the morality of his own stance, when Bucky suddenly broke in._

_“Dad, your entire argument is insane. Unit cohesion and military readiness my ass.”_

_His mother turned to glare at him while Rebecca snorted into her plate, then tried to play it off as nothing. George Barnes on the other hand—he drew himself up to his full sitting height and scoffed._

_“So you want to play this game James? You really think you are ready to take on the big boys? You already proved you can’t defend yourself against a couple of stupid kids,” he glanced pointedly at the sling Bucky was still wearing. “I can’t wait to hear what you think you have to say about something of actual import.”  
_

_Bucky felt his cheeks coloring but evened his breathing and refused to rise to the bait._

_“Dad. Don’t Ask Don’t Tell has never had **anything** to do with unit cohesion and military readiness. The only reason you consistently go back to referencing that tired old theme is because you know that you can’t argue that the law should be based on personal morality. There is plenty of research out there already which proves that countries currently do allow gays and lesbians to serve openly and that the practice doesn’t impede any military readiness. And the majority of the House of Representatives has already voted to nix the damn policy.  So why can’t you just admit that the reason you are fighting this so damn hard is that you are a hate-mongering bigot who is afraid of looking bad in front of all your other hate-mongering cronies.”_

_Well. So much for not rising to the bait. He was breathing hard, and couldn’t believe how good it felt to finally say what he was feeling, to finally stand up to his father,_

_“Well, well, well. The boy finally grew a pair. Look at that Winifred—your son finally grew some balls.” He looked nastily back over at Bucky. “I assume this is mostly coming from that faggot teacher you’ve been hanging around with at school?”_

_Bucky suddenly felt like he had been doused in cold water. He couldn’t believe the prejudice and hatred in his own family. He couldn’t believe that people like his father were consistently elected to office, were the ones over-seeing the fate of the country. The unjustness, the unfairness of it all made him want to scream._

_George continued. “I certainly hope this ‘professor’ isn’t filling your head with this trash behind closed doors anyways. Certainly don’t want him turning you queer. I sure as hell won’t have a little fairy son in this house.”_

_Bucky flinched and looked down at his plate. He could feel his mother and Rebecca staring at him, he could feel the tension in the room spiking to an all time high and George started speaking again,_

_“For your information, James Buchanan Barnes,” he annunciated each syllable of his full name for effect, “allowing gays to serve in the military will be an absolutely deadly distraction, and yes,” he held up his hand as Bucky opened his mouth to interject, “this has been proven beyond a reasonable doubt. Homosexuals are notoriously promiscuous. They will distract and promote chaos and it is an unacceptable risk and disgrace to the American military.”_

_Bucky snapped his head back up. It was unreal how useless it was to try to argue with this man. His very basis for any sort of justification for his action hinged entirely on myth and made up statistics. And no one ever held him accountable for it. Ever. George was still talking when Bucky stood up from the table, dishes clattering around him._

_“I’m done here. I’m going out. Good luck at your hearing tomorrow. Hope it works out for you.”_

_And he turned his back on George and walked out of the dining room._

 

* * *

 

The tall brick building stretched up above them, lights from the street below bouncing off of the sheer faces of the seemingly endless levels of windows.

“Jesus…” Bucky mouthed quietly and Rebecca looked sharply over to him, one eyebrow raised.

“Oh,” he stumbled, “this place is huge! This is like…the real deal huh?”

“No shit Sherlock,” she responded.

He glanced over at her and laughed. “No, no, I don’t mean it like that. I just…when you said ‘art show’ I was picturing some tiny little gallery with a couple of forlorn and desperate looking art students standing around.”

“Ha! Well, pro tip—don’t go in there and tell that to Steve. He pulls off forlorn and desperate looking easily enough without any help from the peanut gallery.”

Bucky chuckled as they walked up the front steps of the building. “Meh, I’ll save it for a moment when I want to get under his skin. But seriously—this building is enormous. He must be doing pretty well to have a show here?”

Bex was nodding along. “Yeah—well, you know, this isn’t just his show. It’s the annual student something or other, uh…sorry I kind of tend to tune this stuff out. But you do have to be specially invited; it is a bunch of senior art students from the top programs around the country. So yeah, Steve is doing really well. His stuff is really wonderful—even though I don’t understand most of it. He has been working on this installment for the last couple of years—some social commentary on global issues or some such. At least, that’s what he is always blabbing on about.” She paused for a moment. “Hey—hold up for just a sec.”

Bucky turned and cocked his head at her as she reached out and grabbed his sleeve.

“Just…be nice? Or gracious…or something. I don’t know. He was really weird about the fact that I invited you earlier…”

“What? Why didn’t you tell me that? I didn’t have to come—”

“No, no—stop that! He was fine with you coming. He just feels some sort of super personal attachment to this stuff and you guys haven’t seen each other in a long time and, I don’t know, he just got a little weird about it for a minute. Just be nice.”

“Bex, seriously? Be nice? That is—”

“No! Ugghh, that is not what I mean. Just don’t push him on anything. I don’t know why he is self conscious about it, but he is, so just don’t say anything, just smile, and tell him it’s great, and I don’t know—”

“Oh my God, this is ridiculous.” Bucky turned and dragged her with him towards the elevators. “I am not going to insult any of his artwork, or be an asshole, or do any number of things that you apparently think I am secretly planning. I don’t know if you recall, but I was there when he started taking art lessons in the first place. I watched him study. I watched him draw. I know how talented he is.” He shot her a pointed glare as the elevator doors closed around them and she stuck out her tongue.

“Uh huh.” he nodded. “And I’m the one who needs a lecture on acting nice…”

The doors opened onto a single floor gallery where there were dozens of people milling about. The room itself was large and open—clean white walls accented the dark wood paneling that lined the floor.  There were rows of self-standing walls throughout the space that served as small cubicles for artists to display their work. It was to one of these small areas that Rebecca suddenly led Bucky, stopping momentarily to grab a glass of champagne from one of the many serving staff wandering the space. Bucky only had a brief moment of indecision before grabbing one as well. He was nervous. He could play it off well—especially around Rebecca who was frequently far too involved indulging her own doubts and personal drama to notice anyone else’s— but seeing any of Steve’s art at this point had him sweating. Truth be told, the last artwork he had seen of Steve’s was stuffed into a small storage container he kept hidden under his bed and those drawings—he shuddered—dredged up particularly horrible memories of his own inadequacies that he would prefer to keep tightly sealed at all times.

Steve was chatting amicably with a young student-looking type who gesticulated wildly around him. Steve looked…flawlessly in his element. Bucky was hit by the sudden realization that at some point in the last five years, Steve had truly come in to his own. He was no longer the buff jock athlete and no longer the quiet, brooding artist. No longer the friendly, bear-hugging picture of popularity, no longer the studious and compulsive perfectionist who lived by each hour on his charted schedule. No, instead he had melded in to some wonderful combination of everything—and still managed to exude ‘Steven Grant Rogers—the Cap’ from his very being. He was tall and muscular and grinning that Cheshire-cat smile that could light up a room and Bucky had a moment of deepest envy and fear that he would never feel this complete, he would never trust himself so perfectly, he would never ever be able to express himself as wholly and effortlessly as Steve Rogers did in each and every moment of his life.

He hovered in the background and watched Rebecca run up and give Steve a big hug and kiss. She leaned up to whisper something in his ear and Steve glanced up and caught his eye. He quirked a small smile that looked almost apologetic, then turned back to the student and re-engaged in conversation. Rebecca walked back over to Bucky.

“So, I’m going to just wander for a while.” She nodded back towards Steve, “he seems a little involved in explaining some minutia about the permanence of pen and ink and why the medium has so much import to his canvas.” She rolled her eyes in what Bucky was now recognizing as her signature style. “You can check out his stuff though. I’ll be around.” Then she was off, darting through the crowd and disappearing into the throngs of students, and journalists and teachers.

Bucky sighed then moved in a little further into the cubicle around him. Steve was getting really animated now, and he could hear bits and pieces of the conversation.

 “…right, right! So even the art having the ability to survive for centuries plays in to the concept of economic desolation and the bleak unending despair…”

Right. Thoroughly enthralling. Bucky glanced around and finally looked up to the pieces of work framed on the walls. He felt a small shiver of agitation move through him and he quickly looked around to make sure no one else was near him.

He knew the drawings.

Not the drawings themselves per say…but he knew these instances in their lives, knew them personally like he knew the back of his own hand, or amount of breath he could hold in a given minute. They were abstract portraits of small moments in time, moments of time that he was present for.

He knew these drawings.

He looked over at Steve who was still standing slightly outside the space and preoccupied, then moved back in and looked over the titles quickly.

 

_They're sitting, backs to each other in the train car—Steve sketching and Bucky reading aloud from Proust._

_“Jeez, Buck, could you find anything a little less mind numbingly boring to be reading? I’m actually trying to work here and at the moment you’re putting me to sleep!”_

_Bucky grinned and kept reading, louder this time and punctuating every second word with a small jerk backwards and interrupting the flow of Steve’s pen on paper—“The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new lands but seeing with new eyes,”_

_“Oh you are such an ass!” The notebook came down hard on Bucky’s head and just like that they were wrestling for control, shoving each other backwards, rolling in the dirt,_

__

_They were scrambling over the train tracks, pulling at locked doors, the smell of imminent rain heavily pressing down all around them,_

_“Found one!” Steve called out and Bucky darted toward him just as the big heavy drops began to fall. He hauled the giant door open, clasped his fingers together and gave Steve a boost up, then scrambled up beside him as the thunder started to boom around them._

_“No way…this is beyond cool Buck!”_

_Bucky  hauled the door back closed and shook out his flashlight from the pack on his back and shined it up at the old train car rafters, looking at the cobwebs around them, smelling the intense musty rotting wood smell,_

_“We could totally clean this place up, and use it as our super secret official superhero hideout!”_

_Steve was grinning like a fool as he spoke, his eyes wide with excitement and Bucky found himself nodding along, a small smile creeping forward._

_“Yeah Steve. Beyond cool.”_

__

_They were running down the tracks as fast as they could go,_

_“Keep up Steve! They’re after us!” Bucky was shrieking in glee and Steve was falling further and further behind, “Come on!!”_

_“You have to go on without me!”_

_Bucky stopped with a jolt and turned back around. “Leave no man behind! ‘till the end of the line!” He raced towards Steve…_

__

_He can smell almost nothing but the sterile hospital building, the bleached sheets, the smell of sickness and hurt and death but there is a faint tang in the air of elsewhere—of metal tracks and laughter and he knows it is Steve but he doesn’t want to see Steve, he can’t see Steve…_

__

_He is staring at the closed door and can’t breathe right, can’t feel anything, can’t understand why everything has finally shattered to pieces around him,_

_his best friend is gone._

_he is gone._

_he is gone…_

__

The memories that were all flooding back came to an abrupt halt as Bucky came to the final installment in the series—the self portrait. He reached up to brush hair out of his eyes that was no longer there out of old nervous habit, then finished his glass of champagne in one long swallow.

It was Steve Rogers, but it was Steve as Bucky knew him. As Bucky remembered him. There was the slightest roundness to his face, a chubby youthful look that Bucky remembered as being full of hope and laughter; but the eyes were violently scratched out, obscured with dark pen stroke that almost looked as though it had ripped up the paper underneath.

He wondered for a moment. Each of the drawings had elicited a very specific memory, drawn out a moment of his life from his repressed subconcious. He couldn’t make that up, could he? Was it the same for Steve? He moved closer and read the inscription on the placard again,

_‘self portrait with covered eyes, indicating the artists own blindness’_

“Shit…” he murmured.

“Sorry about that."

The voice piped up right behind him and Bucky spun around. Steve was standing there, eyes cast down and his hands in his pockets. There was a certain level of stress to his stance—a barely buzzing tension that Bucky was certain no one else in the room would ever even notice.

“Uh…” Bucky had no idea what to say.

“I wanted to catch you earlier. Before you saw everything. But I got caught up in…well, I just had to finish that conversation.” He made a small gesture to the wall where the drawings were mounted. “So. You get it all I guess.”

He was still looking at the ground, speaking so quietly Bucky had to strain to catch each word.

“Um. It’s us. It’s all us.” He thought for a moment. “Why is it all us?”

Steve shuffled his feet and glanced up for a second, catching Bucky eyes, looking deep into them as if trying desperately to find some sort of approval or judgment of any kind. Then he looked back down again.

“It, uh. It didn’t start that way. I didn’t mean for it to become this.” He looked up for the wall for a second and pointed to one of the placards. “It really was supposed to be this sort of commentary on global economics. But every time I tried to get it right…” he sighed painfully. “I guess I just can’t stop drawing you. Us. But mainly you.” He suddenly chuckled—a raw, wounded sound—and ran one hand through his blonde hair, partially obscuring his face. “Shoot. I don’t know, I don’t know why I can’t get it all out of my head. Everything is just always there fighting to get free…”

Bucky was fighting hard to keep breathing, he felt like he was frozen in time, Steve was still drawing him after all these years apart and he wanted so badly to feel elation, to feel the simple joy of being remembered in such a beautiful way, but all he could feel was a profound sadness that was seeping into his bones. 

“I still have all of your drawings.” He blurted it out. He didn’t mean to—why did he say that? He could feel the tops of his ears getting red, feel it spreading out to his face.

Steve gave the smallest hint of a smile. “Really? You do? I would have figured… well...”

“They were amazing. I keep them. Well…I keep them...” Shit, he was babbling incoherently now, he really shouldn’t have had that glass of champagne—

“I really kind of figured you would have thrown them all out by now.” The sadness was clear in Steve’s voice now, and he looked up at Bucky as though he were pleading for him to say something. What was he supposed to say, what was the right thing to say, he felt heat spreading all over and thought for a terrifying moment he was going to pass out—

“Rogers! There you are! I was just mentioning to Parker here that he really needs to do a write up on your work. Simply astonishing observations on the socio-political repercussions of global environment.”

“Hello Professor Denner, so good to see you! Just one moment,”

Bucky turned around and walked out from the cubicle as quickly as he could. He had to get some air, he could hear Steve calling out pleadingly from behind him in some far off place,

“Buck?”

But he had to get some air, had to get a drink, needed desperately to clear his head.

 

* * *

 

_He was in his room watching C-Span and shaking in a nauseous horrible excitement, waves of anticipation breaching the surface and threatening to overwhelm him, tremors of terror rising slowly to impale him, he rewound and watched it again._

_the gavel came down._

_“By a vote of 234-194, the U.S. House of Representative approves the Murphy amendment to the National Defense Authorization Act for the fiscal year 2011. This will provide for the repeal of Don’t Ask Don’t Tell and create a process for lifting the policy. The court would like to thank the members of the ServiceMembers United for their testimony regarding the mental competency of the veterans included in the letter presented by George Barnes. The court is adjourned."  
_

_He was going to choke on the emotions rising to the surface. His father was going to kill him. Senator George Barnes was going to murder his second son, and Bucky wouldn’t even care because the bill was repealed and he helped, he did that, he helped,_

_A door slammed from somewhere below him and he jumped. Footsteps echoed up and down the wooden floors, and his cell phone began to buzz; caller ID: Dad._

_He closed his eyes and took a steadying breath, then picked up the phone._

_"Hey Dad.”_

_“Bucky. A word downstairs in my office. Now.”_

_He hung up the phone and impulsively grabbed the loose file folder sitting on his bed, then walked down the steps with all the enthusiasm of someone being led to the gallows. He pushed open the office door and peered around the framework. George Barnes was standing behind his desk, pacing erratically. He looked up and saw Bucky and nodded.  
_

_“Come in. Close the door behind you. And sit."  
_

_Bucky quietly edged the heavy door closed, then moved over to the large plush chair. There was sweat starting to bead on his forehead now, and he tried to maintain eye contact with his father. He was right. He knew he was right, but he went against the family, he went against his dad and he was going to pay for it,_

_“Repealed.”_

_“Sir?”_

_“Don’t play the idiot boy. I know you know what happened this afternoon. How that delightful mockery of a veterans group, ServiceMembers United got their hands on the confidential lists of over a thousand names that signed the letter. Lists of a thousand names that were only accessible by myself and my secretary.  Lists of a thousand names that were saved directly on this harddrive.”_

_He motioned towards his computer._

_"Now tell me James,” he was racheting up, his face turning a twisted shade of red as the anger threatened to explode. “Tell me, exactly how that damn queer organization got their dirty little paws on those names.”_

_Bucky took a deep breath and tried to stay calm. “Well, you obviously have a pretty good idea or you wouldn’t have called me in here. Sir.”_

_“Listen to me, and listen closely because I will NOT repeat myself again. Whatever little faggot agenda you have going on with that damn professor at that school, you can forget about.  You are a Barnes. Like it or not, you are a member of this family. I could have you arrested for this. I could disown you for this. But you are my son. My stupid, idiot, failure of a son, but still my son.”_

_“Dad.” Bucky spoke quietly. “Those veterans didn’t give consent to be represented on that document. You stole their signatures. Some of them were dead. You committed fraud.”_

_"I played the game James.” He was fuming, practically spitting out words now. “This is my career. My entire life. I have a constituency to represent, I have a moral obligation to keep the military safe. This is not some stunt. This is not some joke. You single handedly destroyed twenty years of work in one incredibly brainless act of defiance.”_

_Bucky was breathing hard now. He was trying hard not to get worked up, not to act like George Barnes, but dammit it was genetics,_

_“You think this was all a brainless act of defiance? You think I am just shitting you with this? This is my life Dad. This is what I am passionate about, I want to—no I **have** to change things, and that policy was horribly wrong. Morally, ethically, politically wrong. You can’t just do that to an entire class of people Dad. You can’t, they are human beings,”_

_“And what, are you some queer now too?”_

_His chest was heaving and he wasn’t thinking and he spoke blindly “So what if I were? Would it really matter that much to you?”_

_His father stood and slapped him across the face and suddenly there was silence and George was looking at him with the absolute worse mixture of hatred and disgust and Bucky raised his hand to his throbbing cheek and was blinking away shameful tears of pain from his eyes,_

_"Get out. Get out of here.”_

_“Dad,”_

_“I mean it. Finish out the year at Episcopal and then you are out of my house.”_

_Bucky scrubbed at his eyes in humiliation then tossed the file folder he was gripping on to the desk._

_“I got into Yale.” He spoke quietly, pleadingly, willing his father to stop looking at him with that awful revulsion,_

_“I could care less where you go to school. Go somewhere where you can fix up your pathetic life and screw your damn head on straight. Now Get. Out.”_

_Bucky fled the office._

 

* * *

 

Steve watched Bucky walk away from him and tried to relax his hands that were balling into nervous fists, fingernails cutting deep in to flesh

“Steven?”

 He turned and consciously made the effort to paste a smile back on his face.

“So sorry Professor. It’s really good to see you again. Thank you so much for coming out here tonight!”

“Of course, of course Steven. It’s always such a privilege to see your work. I brought over a friend from the press. I was just telling him how magnificent your current installment is. He would love to take a look and pick your brain?”

“Always!” Steve smiled over to the smaller man with a notebook and pen perched precariously on his fingertips.

He spent the next hour answering questions, discussing his work with anyone who showed interest, and trying urgently to not bite his fingernails into bloody shreds. He stepped out from his cubicle every few minutes, desperate for a glimpse of Bucky. It was during one of these moments of weakness that Rebecca finally caught back up to him, springing up behind him with her hands over his eyes and making him jump guiltily.

 “Jeez—jumpy much babe?”

 “Sorry,” he spoke prying her hands from his face and turning to face her, “it’s just been a long night. Uh, have you seen your brother around?”

 She frowned and turned her head, quickly scanning the crowd.

 “Nope. Haven’t run in to him. It’s a big place though, I’m sure he’s just wandering aimlessly.” She reached up and laced the back of her hands behind his head, pulling him down for a kiss. “How much longer do you have to stay? Have I mentioned that I have a thing for morbidly depressed artists who dress all in black?” She shot him a coy look. “We could head back to your apartment…find you some black…”

 He pushed her away gently and tried not to make a show of his own crowd-scanning.

 “I’m really sorry Rebecca, but, uh, I need to be here a little longer, and then with the announcement and everything tomorrow night, don’t you think we should probably get some rest?” He was nervous, why was he nervous? He kept looking back at the corridor, praying for some flash of Bucky, wishing fervently that Bucky would appear, give him a clap on the shoulder, crack some joke about poor aspiring artists and grin maniacally up at him and they would laugh and everything would be ok again, and he wouldn’t be off somewhere hiding in a corner, horrified that some guy who he hadn’t talked to in years was drawing him over and over and over and over,

 “Dude. Earth to Steve. Come back!”

 He realized Rebecca had still been talking at him, he was starting to feel this spiraling panic and he needed to calm down and he was just the worst, so he managed a small smile down at her.

 “Shoot, I’m really sorry. I’m just exhausted, it’s been a really long day.”

 She nodded. “Yeah. It’s no problem. We’ll just go out tomorrow night to party hard and celebrate both the announcement and your art.” She gave him one last peck on the cheek. “Ok, well I am going to try to track down Bucky then and head out for now. See you at the office tomorrow?”

 “Of course.” He watched her turn, then on a wild spur called out, “Rebecca?”

 She glanced back over her shoulder, looking inquisitively at him.

 “Um. Do you know…” he waved to the wall behind him, “do you get what these are all about?”

 She smiled and moved back into the space. “Well, ok, I am totally not an artist or anything, and I definitely don’t think about anything quite as deeply as you do, but you have talked about the viewer as an everyman and what not, so yeah, kind of? I mean, I get that the shadowy guy that is in all of these should be the viewer right? And the point is to bring the viewer in to the discussion—make them feel responsible for the growing economic crisis? I think it’s really great Steve, I truly do—you don’t have to worry about people ‘getting’ it. It’s super clear when you explain it all.”

 He heaved a massive sigh of relief and release and just a touch of sadness. She didn’t know. She couldn’t know. She didn’t know, and it somehow just compounded the fact that his entire life was a lie, and no one would ever know,

 “Right? That is what you meant, right?” She was staring at him now with concern, a slight confusion marring her perfect features as she struggled to work out what else the art could possibly mean.

 “Of course. That’s right. Right, umm well, thanks so much for coming out tonight. Tell Buck bye for me ok? Tell him…well…just tell him bye…”

 She kept eyeing him for a single moment. “Of course I will. I love you Steve—you know that right? I love you.”

 “I love you too.”

 

* * *

 

  _He got mind numbingly wasted. It wasn’t hard for him to find alcohol or drugs in the suburbs, especially not when he had already made some decent contacts selling off some of his Percocet and Vicodin to pay for other indulgences. All he had to do was make a quick call and then he was sitting in the dingy old basement of a new ‘friend’ shooting up, and downing a liter of whiskey, then shooting up again. By midnight when he finally stumbled out of the weathered, beaten down apartment he could barely see straight and it was a fucking miracle he managed to make it back home. Well. Back to the front lawn of his home. Where he stumbled around aimlessly, trying desperately to get the damn sling off from around his neck because Christ that thing was irritating as hell, and he seriously could use his arm for balance at this point. He managed to get it off, pulling it sharply around his head, but he stumbled and threw out the bad arm for balance and shit if it didn’t hurt like balls, the worst thing he had ever felt, he was giggling as he started to puke up dinner and whiskey and whiskey burned like a bitch coming back up and great, now there was a massive pile of puke in his mother’s begonias and he just wanted to fall down and go to sleep, so he tried to but there was someone there shaking him back and forth._

_"Quit it,” he mumbled, “jus…le me sleep…”_

_But she wouldn’t stop josteling him, he looked up and saw her there, crying and calling out his name over and over and for fucks sake it was Bex,_

_“Hey Bex,” and he rolled over and puked again and must have blacked out momentarily because when he came to, she was on the phone with someone,_

_“Please, please hurry,” she was sobbing into the phone, why the fuck was she sobbing, nothing was making sense right now, the ground felt like wet grass—must be funny to be wet like grass,_

_"Oh God Steve, I don’t know what to do, he trusts you right?”_

_“Steve?” he gurgled out and lurched sideways, “No…no…I don’ want to…”_

_“Bucky!” She shrieked right in his ear, and he pushed her away, but shit it was with his bad arm and that hurt so bad, why did it hurt so bad,_

_he blacked out again and when he came to, someone bigger was leaning over him. He could still hear Rebecca crying in the background,_

_“We can’t wake up my parent’s Steve, they’ll kill him. They can’t know about this, you just, you just have to get him off the lawn,”_

_Oh shit, he was barely more coherent now, but he could smell him he had already tasted him on the air, he stumbled forward and started kicking and swearing,_

_"Get the fuck off of me, get off of me, get **off** , ge' off, g'off,”_

_“Bucky, Buck, stop! I am not trying to hurt you, Buck, you need to let me help, Bucky,”_

_there were hands all over him now and he couldn’t be like this in front of Steve, Steve hated him when he was high, he couldn’t breathe anymore, he smelled like stale sick and awful, and he just wanted to sleep,_

_“Get off of me,” he was crying now and trying to push him away,_

_“Bucky, I’m not gonna fight you!”_

_shit his arm hurt, everything hurt, the colors were swirling around more and he wanted to sleep and not feel the blue anymore because blue hurt more than the others, it hurt more than everything else,_

_he blacked out again._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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	7. Heaven Knows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are finally starting to happen guys! I know it took 30k...but we are here! Thanks for your patience in putting up with the extreme levels of angst--it will pay off soon :)
> 
> We finally finished with all of the flashbacks. From here on out, the rest of the story will take place in present time and will switch POVs :)
> 
> Edited to include the amazing artwork of [WilliamKaplan](http://williamkaplan.tumblr.com/)

        The night of the announcement came in perfect Republican glory and splendor. Honestly, it wouldn’t have surprised Bucky in the least bit if his father had made some sort of Faustian deal with the devil on this one; they were on a large stage outside on the lawn of the mall and the temperatures were hovering around a beautiful 75 degrees while the sun was just starting to set in a fantastic explosion of vivid red hues that lit up the sky and loudly proclaimed it’s metaphorical support for Senator George

        Barnes.

 _It’s Time to Change America indeed_ … Bucky thought to himself, flinching slightly as he realized the negativity of the constant inner monologue running through his head. He smiled wider and shuffled slightly, trying to regain some feeling back into his left leg. Christ the man could go on for ages.

        George Barnes was centered on the front of the stage, delivering a speech worthy of any president to the large gathered mass. The rest of the Barnes family stood slightly behind him, smiling for the cameras, nodding at acceptable pauses in George’s diatribe, dressed to the nines and looking like Republican Party perfection. It was becoming almost unbearable at this point—the only reason he was standing up here at all was to lend support to the massively outrageous lie that _the Barnes family was ‘a flawless symbol of excellence’ the rest of the country could only hope to someday emulate_. Where the hell did he go wrong to get to this point of utter degradation? He was the star student of his graduating class; he could have had a promising career anywhere politically speaking—he just needed to be willing to put in a few years of hard grunt work, possibly work at a coffee shop, scrape together the rent and wait for his big break. He could have been working to support a candidate he actually believed in. He could be an intern right now for a campaign completely different set of values.

        It all boiled down to the fact that he was apparently incredibly selfish and still couldn’t get past the simple fact that he so desperately longed for his father’s pride in his accomplishments. Longed for the moment when he would take him in his arms, proclaim that all was forgiven, and love him—love James Buchanan Barnes. He rolled his eyes, then caught himself—hoping that there were no cameras focused in on him at the moment. He schooled his face back into that small grin of support and hopefulness. It was pathetic.

        George had moved on from the simple economic policy talk and was now well in to the ‘family values’ section of his speech.

_“Religious liberty is not some fringe view. It is the basis of this country! The Democrats are pushing mandatory gay marriage in all 50 states, and a judicial victory for gay-marriage advocates could lead to government persecution of Christian churches and schools!”_

        He continued on and Bucky tuned him out once again, focusing all of his internal energy on not letting that smile falter. He scanned the cheering crowd for something to keep himself occupied with, noting with pleasure the small section of protesters that had been roped off from the general masses. The interns and office workers who were not running around back stage were all standing towards the front of the crowd. He saw Steve then, caught his eye and saw him mouthing something towards him. His smile grew, he couldn’t help himself, the warmth in his chest was almost overwhelming, then he looked to his left and saw Rebecca mouthing back.

        Right.

        Steve was looking at Becca.

        Obviously.

        He could feel the slow spread of heat to his cheeks and reached up to rub at his temple self-consciously. Idiot.

        The crowds cheers were growing louder and more insistent and Bucky realized that George was finally drawing to a close—of course he was drawing to a close—the sun was just now setting behind the hill and the final rays of red reflective light were cast upon his podium making him look as though he had caught on fire; his ideas were fire, they were spreading…

        Deal with the Devil.

        ‘Let’s Make America Great Again!’ George announced and as the crowd went wild, Bucky could only sigh out in massive palpable relief. He had made it through the damn thing, he didn’t have to smile anymore, and he didn’t have to stand awkwardly on stage with cameras flashing in his face lending support to some bigot tyrant character.

        Someone grabbed his arm as he was shuffled off stage and he looked down to see Rebecca.

        “Oh my God that man loves to hear himself talk,” she muttered. She was clinging to him now, using him as a balance to twist off her four inch heels. “Thank GOD!” She turned and smiled at Bucky, now barefoot, and he grinned.

        “Better not let Dad see you like that Bex. He might think you picked up your older brothers’ ‘hippy granola’ ways running around with no shoes…”

        “As if.” She swatted at him, then glanced around. “Hey—did you see where Steve ended up?”

        “I just came off the stage same as you. I don’t have a clue where anyone is.”

        “Yeah yeah, ok sorry! Just thought I’d ask. He should be lurking somewhere…” she pulled the pins out of her hair and let the curls cascade loosely down the back of her neck.

        “So…” he muttered, “after party somewhere?”

        “No way in hell I am hanging with Dad’s cronies any longer than completely necessary she replied. “I’m going out with some friends from Episcopal actually. You and Steve want to come? He wasn’t super stoked about it when I mentioned it yesterday, but I am willing to bet he will go if you do. Come on…it’ll be fun!”

        Bucky thought for a moment. He had planned to go back to his apartment alone, probably finish off the bottle of whiskey he had laying around and pass out in some state of mixed depression, anger and sexual frustration. Which sounded…great. “What the hell. I’m in.”

        She perked up considerably. “Fabulous! Then let’s find Steve shall we? I want to be out of here in five—I need a drink stat.”

 

* * *

 

       The bar itself was an amazingly cool place. Bucky certainly had his doubts as Rebecca led them down a dank musty alley, but the aptly named ‘Alice’ proved to be a fantastical hole in the wall, complete with a flashing neon white rabbit. Inside, the walls were covered in porthole mirrors and dangling lanterns, and he watched the bartenders serving up some fancy cocktails in tiny yellow teapots. Bucky wasn’t typically the ‘theme’ type, but even he had to admit that the place was beyond amazing. Within two minutes of their arrival, Rebecca had flitted off somewhere—presumably with the Episcopal crew she previously mentioned—and Bucky was left awkwardly standing in the doorway with Steve

       “Uh, did you want to go hang with her?” Bucky asked.

       “Huh?” Steve looked at him for a second, then gave a small jerk of his head. “Oh! No—she is, well…they are all…no.” He smiled. “She is here to party—I wouldn’t want to get in the way. I’m going to let her have some time with them for a bit. Wanna grab a drink?”

        “Oh my God, yes.”

        They ended up at the bar; a wonky lopsided thing splashed in all different colors of paint. The bartender eyed the pair for a moment, then threw his towel over his shoulder in prototypical ass-hat bartender fashion and spoke.

        “So. What’ll it be for you guys?”

        “Hey, man.” Bucky looked over at the large liquor selection for a moment. “Umm, in the spirit of wonderland and all, I might as well branch out. Any great recommendations?”

        The bartender sighed. “I take it you haven’t been here before.” He pushed over two rustic looking books. “Just call me over once you are ready. Name’s Jack.” Then he hurried back down the way to another wild looking group.

        Bucky looked at Steve and mimed getting shot in the head. “Uptight much?”

        “Seriously,” Steve nodded. “Pass that over, let’s take a look.”

        The unassuming looking books were filled with the most delightfully named colorful concoctions Bucky had ever seen. He started reading aloud before he even realized noise was coming from his lips,

        “ **The Mad Hatter’s Secret Tea:** [Hendrick’s Gin](http://www.gourmantic.com/2013/05/15/hendricks-journey-into-the-botanical-unknown/) mixed with Montenegro Amaro and Cardamom bitters. The drink will be served from a walking cane and served into a Hendrick’s teacup with a block of ice.

        The cocktail strikes the perfect balance of gin, bitterness from the Amaro and a strong and delicious hit of cardamom. Beware the Mad Hatter as this drink may lead you to order another.

        Steve grinned and read aloud another:

        “ **Waking Up from the Dream:**[Woodford Reserve](http://www.gourmantic.com/2012/02/03/woodford-reserve-masters-collection-whisky-workshop-at-the-bellevue-hotel/) bourbon is stirred down with Cointreau Noir, Maple Syrup and orange bitters over ice. The liquid is then injected with a syringe into a ball of ice. A spoon is provided for you to crack the ice which releases the flavor of the drink.”

        Bucky shot a glance over a Steve and the corners of his mouth tugged up just slightly. “So, then. What time did you need to be up tomorrow?”

        Steve grinned boyishly back at him. “You’re on!”

 

**********

 

        Four cocktails later and Bucky and Steve were curled up on a bench together, laughing hysterically. It was absolutely the last one that did it—Bucky would hold to that for all eternity. Who the hell makes a cocktail out of absinthe, and then offers it up to two, very obviously, already inebriated men? The room was swaying pleasantly around him, the mirrors on the walls flexing inwards and outwards, making it possible to believe just for a moment that they led to some secret world, that if they both stepped forward and reached out their hands they would be pulled in to Wonderland and leave D.C. forever behind. Bucky could see his reflection in one, a distorted view. Disheveled hair and bloodshot brown eyes and flushed cheeks and if he closed his eyes for a split second he could almost imagine blonde hair and blue eyes perched on his shoulder, but, no it wasn’t in his mind’s eye after all, Steve really had perched his head on his shoulder and was grinning mischievously into the faulty mirror and he could smell the clean almond scent of his hair and if he concentrated again, even the slightest bit, he could smell turpentine,

        he was going mad and it was hilarious.

        Steve was abruptly not balanced on his shoulder anymore, he had suddenly moved and Bucky turned slowly enjoying the brief spin of the world and saw Rebecca,

        “Oh my God Steve, how much have you guys had to drink, you are both completely wasted!” And she giggled hysterically and fell forward on to their table and now all Bucky could smell was smoke and he beamed up at her because she was so obviously wasted too,

        “Bex this place is fantastic and you smell like an ashtray or straight up tar, or maybe an opium den what the hell have you been doing,”

        She giggled back at him, “Opium. Obvs, big brother,”

        and he gaped up at her because, seriously, was smoking opium even still a thing, and she just looked wisely down at him with aged maturity and quoted blithely,

        “How doth the little crocodile improve his shining tail. And pour the waters of the Nile, on every golden scale. How cheerfully he seems to grin, how neatly spreads his claws. And welcomes little fishes in, with gently smiling jaws.”

        She winked then turned back to Steve who was staring directly at Bucky, he was cutting directly through his chest cavity, directly through to his heart with his gently smiling jaw,

        Bucky shook his head, he was going mad! And Steve was speaking now,

        “…cool with you?”

        “Huh?” Bucky mumbled.

        “Dancing, fool,” Rebecca cut in with a drug induced drawl, “I’m stealing my boyfriend to go dancing.”

        “Oh. Right. _Obvs_.” He smirked at his own cleverness in quoting Rebecca and watched her pull Steve into the ever growing crowd of drunken natives and he stood up and casually made his way back to the bar.

        “Hey. Jack, man!”

        Jack came heading back over. “You liked the absinthe tea huh?”

        Bucky smiled and shot his best, most fuckable grin back because he was in a bar and he was drunk and what the hell. He responded, “It was maddeningly fabulous. I’ll have another."

        “And I’m paying.”

        Bucky looked over at the newcomer who had sidled in to the stool next to him and gave him the appraising once over. He looked to be in his early thirties, was wearing a denim jacket over a tight black shirt, had the faintest amount of stubble covering his chiseled jaw line and had, god dammit, blue eyes. Bucky quirked an eyebrow at the guy.

        “And I will _certainly_ take you up on that.” He stuck out his hand. “James.”

        “Mark.” The newcomer grinned then looked back up at Jack and added, “and I’ll have whatever he is having as well.”

 

* * *

 

        Steven Grant Rogers was completely plastered. It wasn’t like he didn’t go out, or didn’t drink, or didn’t know how to just relax every once in a while, but for the most part he kept himself to one or two beers max, not the four—wait, now five—insanely sugary, liquor filled cocktails that he had gulped down in the last two hours. It was hitting him so hard and Christ Almighty if he wasn’t going to have the killer hangover of the century when he woke up tomorrow morning but, for right now, it was absolutely worth every second because Bucky was laughing and when Bucky laughed the entire room seemed to slow down and fadeout into a background track and the only thing left in the entire universe was that tinkling mirth that sparked something deep within him,

        he had no choice but to move closer and lay his head directly on Bucky’s shoulder; to stare in to that porthole mirror and watch—to be swallowed up in gold was pure happiness after all,

        someone nudged into his shoulder and he shot up, surprised and almost fell over the table.

        “Oh my God Steve, how much have you guys had to drink, you are both completely wasted!”

        Rebecca was gripping the heavy table as if holding on for dear life, as though the floor was trying to open up from under her feet and swallow her up. Then she abruptly fell over and Bucky started talking to her. Steve was trying to follow the conversation, he really was, but everything was just a loud hum in his ears and all he could look at was Bucky’s mouth moving, he was watching his jaw clenching and his eyes expressively focused in on Rebecca and the way even his tongue was roaming over his teeth,

        crap. Bucky was staring at him. How long had Bucky been staring at him?

        Rebecca was pulling at his arm and he looked down at her as she spoke,

        “Come on babe. Come dance with me—the night is young and by the grace of magic so are we!”

        Her melodramatics were so endearing and she was right, the night was young, and so were they and Rebecca was where he was supposed to be. If the beginning was Steve and Buck, then the ending was Rebecca, it had to be Rebecca.

        They ended up in the middle of the dance floor, smashed in amongst dozens of other bodies and Rebecca was pushing right up against his chest, grinding in to him. There were others around them, laughing and moving and mascara was running down their glistening faces. He recognized a few from the high school—Rebecca’s friends then. One of them got right up against him as well,

        “Jesus, Steve you look fantastic,”

        And the other girls were all pushing in then, they formed some sort of mosh pit in the center of the floor and all he could think about was Bucky but he kept dancing and drinking and dancing.

        He was sucked down the rabbit hole of inebriation and heavy bass—the two intertwining inside of him, eating their way through his organs, unaware of any time passing, unaware of where he was or who he was—each breath in left him completely intoxicated from different entwining smoky scents, his eyes were closed,

        “Steve!”

        Rebecca was yelling in his face, still laughing, her beautiful smile looked so much like Bucky’s,

        “Yeah? what?”

        “I’m heading back uptown with the girls! Can you get home alright? You want to find Bucky? Can you find Bucky?” Her head was cocked to the side and her eyes were twinkling and her skin was sweat soaked, they must have been dancing for ages and he looked around suddenly, noticing that the bar really was starting to empty.

        “I’ll find him, I’ll call you tomorrow, yeah?”

        She lurched forward drunkenly and planted a wet kiss on his cheek then turned and stumbled off, arms tightly around her group of friends, all of them laughing uncontrollably and swaying from side to side off in to the distance. He staggered from the dance floor and tried to focus his eyes, tried to find Bucky, that was what she told him to do, ‘find Bucky!’ and some guy pushed a shot in to his hand and suddenly everyone was yelling and drinking and he swallowed the tequila with a grimace and he found him, there he was—at the bar! But he was talking with another man, and the guys’ hand was splayed carelessly on Bucky’s thigh and his thumb was rubbing small concentric circles and now Steve was angry. There was no reason to be angry, he didn’t know why he was angry, he could just feel the deep waves of possession coursing through his blood, Bucky was his, he was supposed to find him, he was supposed to get him safely home, Bucky was his friend, Bucky was _his_.

        He found himself suddenly standing beside the two men and tried not to lose his balance, he was so wasted, and he cleared his throat loudly. Bucky jumped a little and turned his head and that glorious smile lit up his entire face and Steve could drown in that smile, he really could, and Bucky spoke,

        “Hey! Stevie!”

        Steve felt his lips turning up into a perfect matching smile—he hadn’t been Stevie since the train, he wanted to reach out and lean his head in to Bucky, feel his stubble rasping against his forehead, close his eyes and get lost in the steady rhythm of his heartbeat underneath his ear,

        but there was still another man there and he spoke out, sounding irritated,

        “Uh, James? Did you still want to get out of here?”

        Steve knew he had to do something, he had to say something or the moment would be lost forever, the rabbit hole would close and he would never have the chance to follow the white hare again so he spoke,

        “Buck, I have something, there is something at my apartment I wanted to…I wanted to show you it, can you, do you want to…”

        His voice sounded too loud in his ears, like he was yelling, like he was drunk, but he was supposed to find Bucky, _she_ told him to find Bucky and he did and he needed him to come, he looked up and couldn’t miss the softening of Bucky’s face, the confusion that flitted across his eyes, the hope that danced across his features.

        “I…”

        he looked back at the guy sitting with him. “I’m really sorry Mark, I need to go now,” he looked down balefully, “It was really nice to meet you man,”

        and he hopped off the bar stool and the guy, (Mark?) looked supremely annoyed now and Bucky threw his arm around Steve’s shoulders and guided him jerkily towards the entrance and he could smell smoke but now it was the tar filled scent of cigarettes and it moved something deep inside him because it smelled like he was thirteen again, it smelled like old wood and charcoal and summer and

        Bucky.

        They were leaning against each other now, finally out in the open air again, and Steve wished for a moment that he wasn’t this drunk, that he had not chosen to finish the night out with a shot of tequila, but he knew that he wouldn’t be pressing against his best friend this tightly if he hadn’t so maybe it was for the best,

        he found Bucky, he told her he would find Bucky,

        She asked him to find Bucky.


	8. Can't Go On Without You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally made it to the good stuff! Thanks for sticking with me :) And truly, thank you from the bottom of my heart for all the comments/kudos/and bookmarks :) :) :)

They were standing in the small living area of Steve’s studio apartment. The place was immaculately clean. It was almost as if no one actively lived there and it was instead one of the ‘show apartments’ for the lot that they kept furnished, and scrubbed down, and empty of all personality. It seemed a little odd to Bucky—Steve was an artist, and while he may not be the most extroverted being to ever walk the planet, he certainly had his own take on life. Bucky expected there to at least be some of his own artwork covering the walls.

The fact that they had managed to make it up to the fourth floor walk up at all was a testament to their willpower. They had leaned on each other the entire way up—Steve was singing some ridiculous musical number about Elder Smith, and Elder Green, and Elder Young and it was complete nonsense and he kept collapsing into hysterics on top of Bucky who would push him back upright,

“Oh Jeez Buck, how have you not _heard_ of Book of Mormon?”

He continued singing complete and utter gibberish. And Bucky couldn’t stop grinning and conceding victory: his musical theater knowledge was total crap. Drunk Steve was just enough like superhero obsessed Steve that he felt seven years younger and like maybe, just maybe, they were going to head back out to the train car and he would fall asleep while Steve sat in the twilight sketching by the fading sunlight over the horizon and the moment would be pure bliss, or this moment would be pure bliss they were both entwined now,

but currently they were standing in the small living area of Steve’s studio apartment and the place was immaculately clean.

Steve had stopped singing the moment they entered, he froze up and was eyeing Bucky warily as though he had forgotten all events of the night leading up to this moment, and Bucky wasn’t really sure what to say, what to do, he wished he had stopped drinking after that second cocktail because he really didn’t feel like he should be making any major decisions at this moment, he wasn’t even sure he should really be opening his mouth to speak, but he did,

“Ummm, Steve? You ok? You said…you said you wanted to show me something?” And he shoved one hand in his pocket for security but the other he had to throw out and catch himself with on the small bar of the kitchen because dammit he was too drunk for this, the room was slightly swaying, and Steve was slightly swaying, but maybe he was just moving, because suddenly his face lit up again,

“Right! Right…”

And he was off running towards a closet at the other end of the room and he threw the door open to reveal stacks of tupperware box containers ranging from small to extremely large and he started throwing them all on the floor and tearing through them; upending them everywhere, there were papers flying and Steve was muttering,

“Shit. They’re all here somewhere…I thought I had them closer to the front,”

and Bucky could see hundreds of pages of painstaking notes scattering all over the apartment floor, years of notes on art and paint and drawing and Steve was going to be so pissed off when he had to put them all back in order tomorrow when he wasn’t drunk anymore, and—was that?—

“Finally…one of the damn things,”

Bucky had never heard Steve swear this much, but now there were pages upon pages of sketches floating down through the air like snowflakes, like debris after a bomb, and they were all of Bucky, they were all his face, there were his eyes and his nose and his mouth and him,

and he was feeling chaotic neutral, or he was feeling just chaotic, he couldn’t remember right now, he was too drunk. He had a friend in college, Eric, who was incredibly smart and they were in a lot of the same classes together because he was a poli-sci major also, but Eric was completely obsessed with Dungeons and Dragons and he convinced Bucky to play with him a couple of times. To be honest, the whole ‘dungeon master’ thing had weirded him out at the time, he just couldn’t hit that suspension of disbelief that was imperative to enjoying the game, but creating his characters was a blast—he would get lost in the world building of it all and making personas that were inherently him, but not, and they were always chaotic,

why was he thinking about Eric right now? Steve was still across the room throwing things, it looked like in anger now, there were tens of boxes piled around him and he was yanking pages out in big fistfuls and hurling them in Bucky’ general direction like a petulant child, and they were still all him. Bucky running along tracks, Bucky tossing stones into a pond, Bucky with tears running down his face, Bucky—Bucky—in a hospital bed, Bucky on his back in bed staring in to the distance, Bucky’s hand on Steve’s face, Steve curled in to Bucky, Bucky kissing Steve, Steve kissing Bucky,

“Steve? Hey…Steve?” he choked out the words, he didn’t know what was going on, he was scared, Steve was throwing art everywhere, Steve suddenly stood up and stalked over looking wild and Bucky was still seeing two of things, he was still seeing too slowly and it shocked him when Steve suddenly pushed him violently back against the wall.

He huffed out his breath in surprise and tried to move forward, but Steve was pinning him there with his forearm, so he reached his hand out and laid it gently on his shoulder and tried to breath, Steve was staring at him so intensely, his eyes were so blue, and he was shaking a little and they were close enough that Bucky could smell the tequila on his breath, could almost taste it,

“Steve?” he whispered, and Steve’s face just crumpled and he stepped back and Bucky took in a few deep breaths and tried to catch his wind again,

“I’m sorry!” Steve gasped, and it sounded like he was crying and he kept going, “But you left Buck. You left me! You left everything here, and I tried, I tried so fucking hard God damn it, but you wouldn’t answer your phone and you wouldn’t answer text messages and you deleted your social media and Christ the only way I knew you hadn’t just gone and offed yourself was that I was pretty sure Rebecca would have mentioned it and _fuck you_ for doing that, fuck you for doing that to me, you were my best friend, and I couldn’t stop, I can’t stop drawing…” he was breathing in choking sobs now, “I can’t stop drawing you, and why…why would you do that to me?”

And he looked up at Bucky and his eyes tore right down into the fabric of his soul and he didn’t know what to say, he wasn’t, he tried, he had to get out because he was in love with Steve Rogers and what was he supposed to say,

“why?” Steve whispered again, mournfully, and Bucky tried to speak, tried to move his mouth but he was being sucked down into the bowels of hell by the brightest of blue, and suddenly Steve moved towards him again and then their mouths were together and now he really could taste the tequila and it was sweet, it was all so sweet, he couldn’t help himself he pressed himself in closer to Steve and his left hand reached up and fisted in to his blonde hair and he could drown in this forever and Steve pressed him back into the wall with his right hand on his chest and his heart was beating so fast and so furiously he was afraid it would push Steve’s hand away, he was afraid of that, it couldn’t happen because he needed that contact, he needed everything and more and Steve pressed his tongue eagerly in to his mouth and he pressed back,

And he pushed Steve away as gently as possible and tried to control his breathing, tried to reign himself in,

“Steve, we can’t…we can’t do this, you don’t want this, you are…you are drunk,”

And Steve just pressed on him harder, he was certain he was going to break through the drywall, and he tried to kiss him again and Bucky ducked out,

“Steve…stop!”

And he did. Just like that, he released him from the wall and took a step back, and put his hands up to his face, and massaged his temples and kept backing up, and Bucky wanted to keen in pain at the loss of that touch,

“Wait…just wait,” he managed to grind out, and his hands were trying to grip at the wall behind him, he was trying to dig himself through now, there was so much tension built up, and he wasn’t James Barnes anymore, there had never been a James when it came down to Steve, there was only Bucky,

Steve was still looking at him, looking straight at him, and he looked so tragic and he spoke,

“Shit…I’m sorry Buck…I’m sorry, I don’t know, I—”

“I’m in love with you,” Bucky blurted out, “I’ve been in love with you since the day I met you—you were twelve and I was fourteen and you were fighting some assholes and you said…you said, ‘I had ‘em on the ropes’ and I…I…I don’t know how to do this, I can’t stop…I can’t stop loving you,”

and now he was shaking too, and Steve was, Steve was smiling, and he was wiping at his eyes and moving towards him again and he came to stand right up against him and nuzzled his head in to that perfect spot, right on his collarbone between his jaw and his shoulder and he whispered up into his ear,

“I love you too, jerk,” Steve huffed into Bucky’s neck,

and he could feel the heat of his breath and now he couldn’t stop himself, it was as though all strain and pressure and worry evaporated from his body and it was because he was still mad, he must still be mad, but he nudged Steve’s head up with own and then turned quickly and pinned Steve against the wall underneath him and he kissed him again and he let himself taste and he let himself smell and both of his hands were holding Steve’s head back against the wall and he could feel the faintest stubble on his chin and he could feel the softness of his ears and he kissed up his neck and he could feel the faintest hitch in Steve’s breath,

he had an irritating moment of dysphoria as his brain chose that minute to remind him that Rebecca had been here first—his _sister_ had been here first—but he shook it off because this was Steve, this was his Steve, and they were meant to be together, they would always be together, the universe had foretold this moment in time possibly before its own creation.

He had made it back to Steve’s mouth now, his perfect mouth, open and taking small gasps for air, and Bucky tried to kiss him tenderly, tried to go slowly, but Steve was pressing into him again, desperate for contact, and they were crushed up against each other now, and even through the alcoholic haze coating his senses, Bucky could feel his erection pushing hard against the confines of his jeans, and even sweeter he could feel Steve’s pushing back and one hand moved down subconsciously, moved down Steve’s ribcage and over the tightly pulled muscles of his abdomen, and he suddenly realized what he is doing and he pulled his mouth back. Steve moaned slightly and Bucky whispered,

“can I…can I unzip…”

and Steve groaned back, “Oh God, yes…please…”

and Bucky’s mouth found Steve’s again and they were sharing breaths, and he undid the top button of Steve’s jeans and zipped down and slid his hand—palm against stomach—down the waistline of Steve’s boxers and he could feel the coarse hair, and he could feel his hard length, and he closed his fingers around Steve and Steve let out a shuddering whimper and Bucky was stroking up and down now slowly, just feeling him, just savoring the contact and the skin was so soft, and Steve was clenching on so tightly to his shoulder he could barely move any more, and Bucky involuntarily jerked forward, trying to rub forward, trying to rub on Steve,

“Sorry,” he blurted out, and Steve was still moaning,

“Oh my God, Buck, wait…Buck, wait…”

and Bucky paused and looked in his eyes for a moment and Steve took a deep breath in and wiggled out from Bucky’s grip, then grabbed his arm and led him over towards the couch, the nondescript taupe suede couch in the center of the living area, and he pushed Bucky down and knelt down in front of him, and Bucky thought he was going to stop breathing, he thought he might pass out, he thought that this might just be his new religion, he didn’t know what was coming next, he couldn’t know what was coming next, but Steve was looking at him with lust blown pupils and he was still breathing hard and there were little droplets of sweat beading on his brow and Bucky wanted nothing more in the world then to kiss him forever, to taste him forever, and Steve was working at his pants now, and Bucky felt like he should say something, felt like he owed it to Steve to offer him a way out of this but his brain wasn’t working right, it’s the madness, or the absinthe, and he murmured,

“Steve…” but he cut off with a harsh intake of breath as Steve worked the zipper free and ran his fingernail over the bulge in Bucky’s jeans, but Steve still heard him and stopped for a moment.

“Buck?”

He was trying to breathe, he _is_ trying to breathe, “yeah…?”

“Can I…I mean…” he laughs almost ruefully, “I’ve never done this before, is this ok?”

and he is pulling Bucky’s jeans and boxers down around his ankles and now Bucky is sitting, naked from the waist down on a taupe suede couch, and his erection has sprung free of confinement and Steve’s hands are on his inner thighs and he can’t breathe, he forgot how, he is swimming in blue and he nods his head and smoothly as he can because he sure as hell can’t speak, but it jerks forward and Steve bends down, but he can still see blue and Steve takes him in his mouth and he is gasping for air, he can’t breathe, Steve is sucking at his cock and still every so often his eyes flick up and Bucky can see them, and each time it is like a shot of adrenaline straight to his heart,

Steve pulls off for a moment and runs the back of his hand over his mouth, wiping away spit, “I’m sorry, I’m really sorry, tell me if this isn’t good…”

And he is so self conscious but it is so amazing and Bucky can barely speak, he just knows he needs him, knows he needs his mouth wrapped back around him and he murmurs as clearly as he can,

 “Oh God, please…please keep going,”

and Steve beams up at him, like he is so proud, and he lowers his head again and now Steve is moaning around his cock and Bucky can feel the vibrations echoing up through his bones, up to the tiny bones in his ears and they hum in delight and maybe it’s the alcohol or maybe it’s Steve, but waves of ecstasy are washing over him and he can’t hold it in anymore, he can feel himself tightening up, and his fingers are grabbing at the suede in a death grip and he tries to pull back but Steve’s hand tightens on his thigh, and he chokes out,

“Steve, stop, I can’t, I’m going to,”

and Steve shakes his head the slightest bit, and tightens his hold and he looks up one last time and Bucky is lost, he can’t hold back anymore, his orgasm bursts from him,

“Oh shit, Jesus…shit…shit…shit…”

and he falls back on the couch breathing hard, while Steve swallows around his cock, he can feel his throat muscles still swallowing, and he slowly pulls up licking at his lips and in the wake of the moment Bucky feels amazing, but he also feels incredibly self conscious, he can actually feel the color seeping in to his cheeks and he can’t look at Steve in the eyes, even though Steve is staring right at him, he looks at the floor instead,

“I’m really sorry…I…I didn’t mean for that to—”

Steve curls up next to him and lays his head on his shoulder and Bucky can feel him smiling into his skin, he can feel his mouth turn up,

“Buck. That was…that was amazing…”

And Bucky turns his head towards Steve and feels this intense relief and intense joy and this intense love,

“Can I, for you, can I,”

and Steve chuckles sheepishly and mumbles,

“yeah, that ship kind of already sailed,”

and Bucky looks down for a moment and can see the small wet remains on the front of Steve’s jeans and he throws his arm around Steve and hugs him close,

“well, better luck next time punk,”

and Steve sighs contentedly while Bucky wraps his arms around him and he could sit here for all eternity and watch the darkness settle in around them, let it coat their bodies in charcoal, they lay together on the couch and the darkness melts them in to one being and they both drift aimlessly through inebriated bliss.

 

*****

 

At some point, hours later, Bucky wakes up and Steve is still passed out on top of him, snoring slightly. He is shivering somewhat—the vigor and sweat from earlier having dried on his skin. He nudges Steve gently, and peels himself out from under him to go find the bathroom and wash up.

In these early morning hours, he can almost pretend that everything is perfect, that he and Steve are one—that the sun will rise upon them and bless them in its radiance and that everything will change, nothing will be the same. And nothing will be the same. Ever. His liquor high is fading fast and bringing with it the bone chilling melancholy of sobriety and he isn’t sure what his move is in this game, what card to play. He grabs a pair of sweat pants from Steve’s dresser drawer and pulls them on, then finds an extra blanket from the closet by the bathroom. He wanders over to the kitchen sink and fills up two large glasses of water—chugs one, and carries the other one. Then he pads over and sets the second glass on the table next to Steve, squeezes himself back in, next to Steve, feeling Steve, smelling almond and charcoal and the memory of turpentine and he can allow himself a few more hours of perfection, even if it comes at the cost of his eternal soul, and he leans back in pulling the blanket up around them both and closes his eyes, letting the dark shadows of the studio apartment lull him back in to a dreamless sleep.

 

* * *

 

 

Steve came to in slow motion, bits and pieces of his surroundings registering in a pinging fashion throughout his nerves. He was warm, and he was comfortable and his head was pounding with the force of a thousand sledgehammers and he was so thirsty, and he hoped Rebecca made it home last night, and he should call Rebecca, and his head was pounding with the force of a thousand sledgehammers and he drank way too much last night, and he was under a scratchy blanket and his head was nuzzled up under Bucky’s chin and he was content and his head was pounding with the force of a thousand sledgehammers and

and his head was nuzzled up under Bucky’s chin.

His heart jumped up in to his throat and he tried to peel his eyes open further, he slid himself down towards the edge of the couch as smoothly and quietly as he could manage,

Bucky moaned a little in his sleep and Steve froze, but Buck just wrapped his arms around a large pillow perched haphazardly on the edge of the couch and stretched out for just a moment then returned to sleep and it was almost adorable but

_oh no. Oh no, oh no oh no,_

he was going to throw up. He needed to get to the bathroom as quickly and as quietly as possible and Bucky could not wake up right now, he just couldn’t wake up, God his head was pounding and

oh Rebecca, oh no, he had to call her, he couldn’t call her right now, of course not, her brother was asleep in his God Damned apartment, half naked on his couch, oh no, oh no, oh no,

he made it to the bathroom, and he wanted to throw up, he really did, his mouth tasted like a disgusting mix of tequila and sugar and sleep and he brushed his teeth and on second thought he just turned on the shower,

he had to get out of here. He had to make this right,

He showered as quickly as humanly possible and threw on some clothes. If he could just get out to the living area, and get all of those sketches shoved away, shove them back into that storage closet, oh God that was hilarious now, back in the closet,

he might still be a little drunk,

if he could just get them hidden away, and leave the apartment, and go grab a cup of coffee, that is what he would do. He would go grab a couple cups of coffee and a croissant from that place down the street, that was Rebecca’s favorite place. He would grab that and then head over to the office, and he could just see her and it would be fine,

Bucky.

Bucky was still here though, what was he going to do about that, oh this was so bad,

Steve gripped his hair tightly in both hands and pulled slightly, it was the only thing he could do right now to ease the ache in his chest, he had to get out of here, maybe he could just leave his keys on the table next to Buck and head out and then just meet up with him later at the office,

that could work, they could talk at the office,

he smoothed his hair back and looked at himself in the mirror. He looked like a mess. His eyes were bloodshot and he was sweating slightly, but he was cold, he was just so damn hungover, but it was going to have to do, coffee would help, he had to get out of here.

He unlocked the bathroom door and stepped quietly out over the threshold,

“Hey.”

Steve froze. Bucky was standing in the small kitchen now, at the countertop bar. He was still wearing Steve’s sweatpants, but he had pulled on a black undershirt now as well. His hair was a mess—flattened down on one side where he had slept on it and sticking out every which way on the other side. He looked shy, like he didn’t know what he should be doing with his hands, or his arms, or his entire body, and he looked adorable, and Steve wanted more than anything to walk over and take him in his arms and nudge up against him and smell him and feel him,

he had to get out of here,

“I was just going to make some coffee…” Bucky chuckled sheepishly, “if I can actually find where you keep it,”

“Oh.” Steve said. “Umm, I think there might be some in the cupboard above the fridge, umm Buck?”

Bucky looked up at him, almost apprehensive,

“Uh, I forgot, I really have to get in to the office today, I have a lot of paperword I was supposed to get done,”

“It’s…it’s Saturday?” It came out as almost a whisper and Steve wanted to cry,

“Oh. Well, yeah, but I’m behind…” He didn’t know what else to say, he didn’t know what to do, Bucky was standing there trying not to look right at him, he was running his hand through his hair now and it settled on the back of his neck, and Steve just didn’t know what else to do,

“Steve…I…last night, I mean, I…” he paused and traced invisible patterns on the marble countertops with his pointer finger, “I meant it.” And he looked up, he looked so open and sad and hopeful and lost and Steve didn’t know what he was supposed to do.

“Oh. Buck.” He had to force it out, it hurt, it rubbed his mouth raw and the ache in his chest was becoming a gaping hole, “I can’t…it’s…Rebecca. I can’t do this to Rebecca…”

And Bucky’s eyes just fell, his whole face just fell, and his hand came off the back of his neck where it was paused, waiting, waiting for deciding factor, and it gripped the countertop now, like he needed all the support, like his own two legs couldn’t hold him up anymore and the gaping hole was a massive pit of despair and agony and Steve couldn’t breathe anymore and Bucky just said,

“Oh.”

“Buck, I’m so sorry. I didn’t…I don’t know…I don’t know what to do, tell me what to do,”

Bucky shook his head slowly. “No. You’re right. We can’t…you can’t do that to Rebecca. You are right. I…I’m sorry. I’ll get out of here—”

“No, look, I am already on my way out the door, just…make coffee, shower, do whatever you want ok? Look, here is my key,” and he laid it on the marble countertop, “Just lock up after and give it to me later today ok? I’ll see you later today?”

“Yeah. Of course.” Bucky nodded, then he looked up at Steve’s eyes and his face twisted in to some cruel caricature of a grin, and Steve had to get out of here or he was going to start to cry,

“I’m so sorry Buck.” And he looked back down because he couldn’t bear to see the sadness in those golden eyes, and he left the apartment.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On Steve's Character: I have had quite a few mentions of Steve being OOC or a jerk or just...not nice. So I just wanted to write a little bit about why I wrote him this way! For me, Steve is always portrayed as this absolutely 'do-no-wrong' kind of person, and while that is really great for the American Hero he is meant to be, I like to think that (at least in my own AU) while he was young, he struggled with making the right choices, and fitting in, and trying to define himself outside acquaintance-made-borders as best he could, just like we all do. I tried to write him as being fairly complex--as having all of these feelings and wants and desires, but, due to the way he was raised, or the town he was raised in, never being able to fully express that. I wanted him to continuously struggle with his own vision for happiness vs. what he saw as everyone else's vision for his happiness. 
> 
> Point being: yes, sometimes he comes off as an arrogant unlikable jerk who doesn't always stick up for Bucky when he should. When I was in highschool, I made some pretty shitty decisions in the name of appearing 'cool'. I like to think that Steve is just as flawed.
> 
> Obviously I am quite perfect now ;)
> 
> So anyways--carry on, and thanks for reading again you all are WONDERFUL and thanks for putting up with my little head canon on Steve for a brief minute :)


	9. Fool

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Almost there! Thanks so much for reading guys :)

Bucky let the door to the apartment close without saying a word. What was left to say? He was a little unsure what to do, a little unsure how to react to anything to be honest. He just stood there and stared at the closed door, stomach churning, nausea starting to worm it’s way deep inside his gut and he was sweating now, he could feel the sweat beading just above his hairline and threatening to spill over and he finally tore his eyes off the entryway and looked down to see the white skin of his hands pulled taut over tendons as they continued their crushing embrace of the marble countertop.

Maybe the door would open again.

Maybe Steve would text him in a minute and say he was sorry.

Maybe he would grin bashfully at him and apologize for being a jackass.

Maybe the door would open again.

Maybe Steve would never speak to him for the rest of his life.

Maybe Rebecca would never speak to him for the rest of his life.

Maybe Steve would text him in a minute and say he didn’t want to see him again.

Maybe the door would open again.

Maybe their friendship was destroyed.

Maybe—

He pushed himself roughly back from the counter and stood trying to breathe. He inhaled deeply  and counted to three, then slowly let it out and counted to ten. Then he did it again. And again. And he was still sweating and the nausea was working its way up his throat and god damn that fucking therapist they forced him to see when he was nineteen and spiraling out of control at school because fuck, breathing and counting to ten and three was shit.

He had to get out of the apartment. He had to leave it as it was last night—clean, and pristine, and like no one had ever been here, like he hadn’t just fucked up a lifetime of friendship in the course of a couple of hours and maybe Steve could forgive him, maybe they could move on from this,

Maybe the door would open again.

He started moving.

First he folded up the blanket from the couch and put it back in the closet he had found it in. Then he placed the throw pillows back on alternate ends. Pristine. Perfect.

He grabbed his jeans and quickly wiggled out of Steve’s pants and back in to his own. He had a moment of indecision as he sat there holding on to Steve’s sweatpants, and finally decided on just depositing them in the laundry bin that sat inside the bathroom before moving back to the living room. On second thought, he poked his head back in the bathroom and rifled through the laundry bin, moving the sweatpants down to a lower layer. Steve wouldn’t know. He wouldn’t remember. Perfect.

He walked back out to the couch and felt a brief stab of panic in his chest as he eyed the hundreds of pages of sketches and drawings and notes littered about the tiny room. There was no way he was going to organize this correctly. He had no idea where anything went, he didn’t know how to fit it all back in the closet, Steve was going to know, Steve was never going to speak to him again, maybe the door would open, Steve was going to know—

He smacked himself on the side of the head with his left palm and muttered to himself,

“Get it together Buck. Get it together.”

And he wandered the apartment picking up sheets of paper and stacking them as neatly as he could. Each time he saw his own face looking back at him his heart seized a little more in his chest and it became harder and harder to breath, and even the messy sketches done all in charcoal sent droplets of sweat off their course, dripping down his nose, in to his eyes, he couldn’t concentrate on anything because it just felt as though his young self was glaring back at him, screaming at him, _‘I told you so!’_ nothing was going to make this better, Steve was going to know, Steve was going to remember all of it, the door wasn’t going to open and this wasn’t going to _be_.

He finally decided on sorting the piles into what looked like concept sketches, actual artwork, and notes. He placed each pile neatly on the marble dining bar and turned them over. No one should walk in and see them. They were private, this was a private thing, and the best he could do was to turn them over. And Steve would know, Steve would see them as soon as he walked in the door, so Bucky quickly walked back to the bathroom and reshuffled through the laundry and placed the sweatpants on top, because Jesus, Steve wasn’t a complete idiot he just liked to act the part. He almost smiled, then a gasping sob erupted from his chest and he quickly clapped a hand over his mouth and held the rest back, swallowed them. Then he grabbed his cell phone and both sets of keys and left the apartment, locking the door behind him.

 

* * *

 

               Steve grabbed the two coffees and croissant from across the counter and looked back down at his phone.

 **_Rebecca:_ ** _That sounds amazing. I need it after last night. See you soon?_

               Steve typed back his response quickly with one hand,

 **_Me:_ ** _yup. :)_

                then hurried out the door. He gulped some burning coffee down—his mouth still tasted foul even after a thorough brushing and he hoped the coffee would hide some of the evidence of his hangover.  He wasn’t sure what he was going to say when he saw Rebecca in five minutes. He wasn’t sure if there was any way to make this right, he didn’t know what to do. He wished more than anything that he could call up Bucky and tell him the whole insane story and Bucky would laugh and clap a hand down on his shoulder and say something like, _‘atta boy’_ and he would come up with some genius plan to execute together, Cap and his sidekick again, and obviously the horse was out of the barn on that whole scenario and it was pointless imagining him and Bucky laughing at anything together anymore because he had gone and destroyed that in one night of debauchery.

                He had used his best friend. His best friend who he knew had past feelings for him, and who he suspected still carried those feelings, and he knew Bucky would never say no to him, Bucky _couldn’t_ say no to him. So he had gone at gotten trashed and let the alcohol do all the talking for him and he had used Bucky and then cast him aside the morning after like trash and Bucky was never going to forgive him for it and that simple fact was killing him.

                It was killing him.

                He walked in the front door of the office and placed the second coffee and croissant down gently on Rebecca’s desk, then made his way back to his own and sat down. He didn’t know what to do. He opened his desk drawer and rifled through it, finding what he was looking for in the very back corner, and he drew it out. A little box, small enough to fit in the palm of his hand. He didn’t know what to do, but he knew he couldn’t be with Buck, and there was no chance Buck would ever stick around for him at this point, and he hated this line of reasoning because now it seemed like Rebecca was second choice and she wasn’t. She just wasn’t. Rebecca was smart and funny and amazing and beautiful and of course he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her, he was just drunk and stupid,

_he was still in love with his best friend_

                but that couldn’t be true, he couldn’t _let_ that be true, he was just drunk and stupid,

                The door swung open and he jumped in surprise—quickly burying the box back under the stack of papers in the desk drawer.

                “Morning babe!”

                She still looked glorious, even at 9am on a Saturday morning after a night of partying and craziness, he had no idea how she always managed to look so glorious. He smiled at her, and hoped it didn’t come across as sickly as it felt.

                “So why on earth did you feel the urge to get this stuff done this morning? Not that I am not thrilled by your buoyant,” she shot him a sly look, “and frankly sometimes frightening supplication to my father’s campaign…”

                Steve shrugged and stood up to move towards her. “Consider it punishment to myself for a night of being a total asshole.”

                She laughed. “And you just _had_ to drag me down with you hmmm?”

                “Eh, I figured you deserved some punishment as well. No one should look as perfect as you manage to after a night of that much alcohol.”

                She moved forward in to his embrace and he drew in a deep breath, inhaling the delicious cherry vanilla scent of her hair, and the faint floral notes from her perfume. “I love you,” he whispered in her ear and he ignored the shooting sense of wrongness that echoed in his ears. He could feel her smile against his neck and she looked up into his eyes,

                “I love you too, Steve.” Then she pushed him away. “Now, show me what we need to get done before I start getting other ideas. You do realize that no one else is bound to come in to the office today? We could,” she motioned toward the large desk in the corner. The desk that was supposed to be Bucky’s,  “we could try something a little new…exciting…” she looked him up in down, the intent obvious in her eyes, and he felt his chest squeezing again and his face flushing and he couldn’t do this,

                “Oh my God Steve I am kidding. Jesus don’t have a heart attack you prude,” and she laughed, that pealing chime of laughter, and he sat back down breathing, thankful that she was attributing the flush in his cheeks to something besides…besides her brother,  and he tried to focus on the polling numbers spread out in front of him,

                “Right. So. Ummm, can you get on your computer? I can e-mail you the numbers we are working with,”

                And she smiled and nodded and sat down at her desk, two spaces in front of his, and he looked at the back of her head and tried to concentrate on the scent of cherry vanilla.

            

* * *

 

                The train ride home was a complete blur. Bucky’s leg kept shaking up and down at high speed and he was clutching his cell phone in a death grip, constantly hitting the call button to refresh the screen and see if he had missed anything. He kept glancing all around him, certain that everyone was looking at him, certain that everyone could see what he did, what he was,

                _Christ, he just slept with his sister’s boyfriend._

Oh God, what was he thinking? He knew he shouldn’t have been drinking that much, but really it had started to fade during the long walk back from the bar. He was the rational one, he should have been calling the shots, making the decisions, he _knew_ he shouldn’t walk back with Steve, Steve was trashed, Steve had no business making any sort of choice at all, God—was Steve even capable of giving consent? Bucky was shocked as the thought flitted across his consciousness—why would he not even think about that last night? He should have known better, everything would have been different if he just used his fucking brain for one second.

                He was so angry, and his leg was still shaking, and now people across from him in the train really were looking at him, with the looks passengers usually reserve for strung out homeless addicts who hop the train looking for a warm place to pass the time, and that was probably exactly how he looked right now, he couldn’t stop shaking and sweating and he was certain his eyes looked blown out and red and he was hungover as fuck.

                The train finally stopped and he lurched out of his seat on to the platform and down the rickety wooden steps. His apartment was just a block down from the station, but he turned to the left and threw himself towards the concrete building on the corner:

**Avenue Market**

**LIQUOR**

**BEER-WINE**

**_LOTTO/ATM_**

                He left the store, brown paper sack clutched in hand—brown whiskey sloshing languidly inside, and hurried back to his crap disgusting apartment, not pristine, not perfect, and let himself in.

                Bucky stood in the entryway to the tiny flat, breathing hard, still trying not to cry, trying to figure out what the hell he was supposed to do now, what to do now that everything was ruined. He carefully peeled the bottle out of the brown bag and set it on the countertop—laminate, not marble—then shrank down to his haunches, head in his hands, and shook and pulled at his hair and he was going truly mad now, last night was nothing compared to this because now he was talking to himself on top of everything,

                “Get it together Buck,” and “You fucking wreck,” and “Why?” and this became his mantra, “why? why? why?” and he built up in a crescendo and with a final shriek he shot up from his position and grabbed the bottle of whiskey then threw it as hard as he could against the far wall of his apartment where it shattered, it’s brown remains leaking slowly down the wall, like syrup, like blood,

                he wasn’t going to be that person anymore, he wasn’t going to fuck up his life anymore, he was going to take a shower, he was going to get some work done, he was going to show up to work on Monday and he was going to smile and be a Barnes and

                now he was crying,

                he wasn’t going to be some disappointment to his family, and he was going to find Steve and tell him that he was so happy for him and Rebecca, because he was, Steve was perfect for her and Steve made her happy and she deserved to be happy.

                They deserved to be so happy.

*****

                He made it through the weekend.  It certainly wasn’t one of the more immaculately glowing weekends he had ever experienced, but he made it solidly through. He made two more trips back to the Avenue Market, bought two more fifths of whiskey, dumped both, slowly, down his kitchen sink while he watched and swore to himself. He punched the drywall once so hard that his fist went straight through. He sat down on the floor directly under the evidence and watched the dark red blood leak slowly from his knuckles and spill over the raised bone down the back of his hand. He binge watched old episodes of Curb Your Enthusiasm.  He went back to the Avenue Market for the third time and bought a pack of Lucky Strikes, then chain smoked half the pack back at his apartment.  He binge watched four episodes of Orange Is The New Black. It sucked. He went back to Curb.

                By the time Monday actually came around he felt like shit, his hair smelled like cancer, his entire apartment stunk of dried up whiskey, there were still shards of glass buried in his carpet, and he hadn’t showered in 48 hours. He groaned and pushed himself up to a sitting position on the couch—afghan and remote falling to the floor. Well Shit. Shiva lasted seven days to mourn a family member’s passing—two ought to be enough to bid adieu to a friendship. He stumbled into the small galley kitchen, put a pot of coffee on and headed back to the shower.

                A full on spa experience, 3 enormous mugs of coffee and a short train ride later, Bucky was bounding up the steps to the office. He wasn’t really entirely sure how he was supposed to be acting around Steve at this point—the guy hadn’t texted or called him once since Friday night’s…apocalyptic string of horrible decisions, but he figured he would just smile and nod and act friendly and if all else failed, just avoid him like the plague. Then he rounded the corner and ran directly in to Steven Grant Rogers—as in, directly smack in to him—spilled his travel mug of the dregs from his earlier pot down the front of himself and all over the hallway floor, and all thoughts of acting with any semblance of normality dissolved to ashes all around him.

                “Oh for fuck’s sake…” he muttered under his breath as he desperately tried to pull his coffee stained shirt from his chest.

                “Oh jeez, Buck, I’m so sorry!”

                Steve actually did look mildly apologetic, but his mouth was also quirking up in the beginning stages of a laugh and now he looked like he was just holding it all in as best he could, and Christ the guy was such an idiot,

                “Why the hell are you laughing at me asshole?” Bucky sneered, and for God’s sake he didn’t mean to sound so vicious but all his cool cover was blown at this point and he was upset, of course he was upset,

                “Shit,” Steve stammered and Bucky looked up at him, “I’m not laughing at you, I’m sorry, I’m just so…I was so nervous about running in to you and I didn’t know what I was going to say and then it figures I would just end up…attacking you, and spilling your coffee everywhere and I have already been such a jackass, so it figures,”

                “It’s fine Steve,” Bucky sighed and tried to move past him, but Steve reached out a hand and caught Bucky by the arm,

                “No, it’s not, and I really want to talk to you. Can I talk to you? Can we talk about—”

                “Jesus Christ Steve not here!” Bucky gave a quick glance around to see if anyone was actually watching their conversation. “Jesus. Ok, let’s go for a walk.”

                He steered Steve back to the front door and the exited the building to the friendly sidewalk, birds chirping, flowers blooming, summer air kissing their cheeks like it forgot to Goddamn read the memo—the Steven Grant Rogers/James Buchanan Barnes dynamic was fucked to hell and Bucky was already sick of dealing with it.

                They walked slowly down the street and Steve was silent, of course Steve was silent, so Bucky broke the quiet.

                “Ok. So what’s up?”

                 Steve looked over at him with a desperate look in his eyes.

                 “Oh Buck. I fucked up. I fucked up so bad, and I am so so sorry. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to not drag Rebecca through this. I don’t know what I am supposed to tell her, how I am supposed to tell her—”

                  Bucky put his hand up on Steve’s shoulder and sighed,

                  “Steve, it’s—”

                  “Just let me finish Buck.” He stopped walking. They were a block away from the house. He was fiddling with something in his pocket and he continued, “I need to show you something.”

                   They were a block away from the house, and the last time Steve needed to show him something it ended up being hundreds of sketches and drawings of Bucky and he couldn’t take any other revelations at this point because that one already fucked him up so badly, they were a block away from the house, and Steve pulled out a tiny box,

                   they were a block away from the house and Bucky was poised to run because he couldn’t do this. He couldn’t hear this right now—he was clean, he was clean and sober and he couldn’t hear this right now.

                   “I was going to propose,” Steve whispered brokenly, and he opened the box and the most perfect tiny diamond engagement ring sat there, propped up and sparkling in the summer sun.

                   “I was going to propose,” he said again, “I’m supposed to propose? And I don’t know what to do now. Tell me what I should do Buck.”

                    Bucky took a deep breath in, and he didn’t run. His heart had stopped beating and it was calcifying into charcoal only it wasn’t the good kind of charcoal, it wasn’t even a memory of charcoal, it was just going to keep hardening until it was dust. But he didn’t run. There was nothing to run to in this town. There was no point.

                    “Steve. It’s fine. I…I didn’t mean anything from last night you know? I was drunk. We were drunk. I was lonely…” he forced a smile out from behind his teeth and reached over to take the box from Steve. “It’s beautiful. She is going to love it. Don’t even worry about telling her about Friday night. There is nothing to tell.” He handed the box back. “You two’ll be so happy together. I’m proud of you man.”

                     Steve’s face looked…agonized. Bucky didn’t know what else to say. What else was he looking for? He was giving up everything right now—he ought to earn a God Damn award for his acting abilities because he was holding it together so well and Steve was sitting there looking agonized and it wasn’t fair.

                     It was not fair.

                     Steve closed the box and pocketed the ring again. “Oh.” he said. Then, “Right. It didn’t mean anything.” His eyes flicked up over Bucky’s face like he was searching for something, and Bucky schooled his expression into slate. “Well, I had originally planned to do it at dinner tonight. I think I probably still will?”

                     “Yeah man, sounds great.” Bucky shoved his hands in his pockets. “Is that all you wanted to talk about?”

                     Steve looked up again and now he just looked sad and lost, and he shouldn’t look sad and lost he was about to propose to Rebecca he should be happy, he should be happy,

                     “Yup. That’s it. Thanks for…well thanks.”

                     “Sure.”

                      They headed back down the block in silence.

*****

                Back at the office, a memo sat waiting at his desk. He read it through quickly, set his coffee down by his desk, changed into a new shirt, and headed upstairs to see what George wanted from him now.

                The secretary let him in with a smile this time—he didn’t do any of his customary barging and whining and yelling and she seemed grateful. But he wasn’t planning on doing that anymore at this point. He was a Barnes. He was here to stand up tall and look the part and smile and lend his support and worship the ground George Barnes walked on, and he was going to do it for the next eight months and then he was going to get the fuck out of D.C.

                George was sitting behind his desk per usual and waived Bucky into one of the seats.

                “Good morning, James.”

                “Morning Dad. What’s up?”

                George gave a little frown. “Please don’t talk to me like you were raised by wolves. You are still on the campaign staff—try to act it.”

                Bucky rolled his eyes, then tried again. “Good morning George. I saw your memo stating that you needed to see me. Is everything alright?”

                George narrowed his eyes a bit as though he were trying to spot the sarcasm, then gave a small shrug of his shoulders. “Better. Everything is fine, I just called you up here because Andrew should have all the reports from the week worked out for you. He is supposed to be here by now…”

                He picked up the phone on his desk and dialed out to someone who Bucky presumed to be his secretary. “Find Andrew.” Then he put the phone down.  “Everything going well in the trenches?”

                Bucky tried hard not to gawk at him. He had been stripped of all of his office manager duties and for all intents and purposes told to show up every morning and just stand there looking pretty—not to actually do any work or touch any documents having to do with the campaign. “Uh…yeah I guess? I mean,” he stumbled as George’s eyes narrowed again, “yes sir, everything is going well. The interns have all been really excited about the outdoor speech you are giving this week.”

                George smiled. “Ah, yes. Andrew and I have been prepping that one every waking moment. It will certainly be one to be remembered.”

                He nodded along as the heavy door to the study pushed open and Andrew poked his head in.

                “Ahh, Andrew,” George said, “So nice of you to grace us with your presence this morning.”

                Andrew hurried in and set a stack of papers down on the desk by Bucky.

                “Sorry George. There have been a few,” he glanced over at Bucky, “other concerns…”

                “Christ, what is going on now?”

               Andrew cast another long look in Bucky’s general direction and Bucky just stared right back at him. He wasn’t planning on leaving unless he was ordered to.

                “Andrew. James is fine. What is going on now?”

                The sudden wash of pathetic pleasure that erupted in his gut from being acknowledged positively by his father was enough to make him sick, and enough to make him almost miss the entirety of Andrews’ response.

                “…the threats again. The west front of the capitol building would be a very easy place for terrorists to have access to…outdoors, easy sight lines to the podium from just about any building nearby, Dad, we really need to be taking this seriously,”

                “I’m not concerned Andrew. It is a bunch of radical extremists—professional agitators, and they are just trying to see what kind of reaction they can provoke. The speech goes on as planned.”

                “Wait,” Bucky spoke up, “there have been threats?”

                Andrew held up his hand and glared at him. “Shut up James.” Then he turned back to George. “Dad, we really need to be taking this stuff seriously. There have already been protests that have turned violent at the other candidate speeches and that was with no warning before hand. I have e-mails and phone calls already threatening—”

                “You have actual threats coming in?” Bucky said again. “Jesus, that is really bad…"

                “Shut up James!” Andrew yelled at him, and Bucky glared back at his older brother with all the power he could muster,

                “Both of you. Leave the office now. James, take the paperwork Andrew has kindly worked out for you. Andrew, our security detail is more than capable of handling a simple threat.”

                “Dad, I really think—”

                “Andrew!” George barked. Bucky froze in the act of standing up. That yell was usually only ever reserved for him. He couldn’t decide if it was nice to finally see his brother take some of the brunt of their father’s anger, or if the sudden familial upheaval scared the crap out of him.

                “Leave the security to Pierce. If he is at all concerned about anything, then I will take his advice and not speak. Otherwise, the. Speech. Goes. On. Now leave the office.”

                And he turned back to his computer, very obviously done with the conversation.

                Bucky followed Andrew out of the office. Andrew was fuming, his fists clenched tightly around air.

                “Hey. Andrew. What sort of threats are you getting?"

                “Just leave it. It’s none of your business. Go back and sit in your comfy little chair by your desk and surf the internet, or play free cell, or waste more of your damn life doing nothing. It’s what you have always done best anyway.”

                He huffed down the stairs leaving Bucky standing behind feeling angry and helpless and like,

                he wasn’t sure what the point of anything was when he was even shit at pretending to be a good Barnes.


	10. We Rode on Horses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I have been so lazy at updates!! Pregnant with #3 right now and it is really slowing me down!
> 
> Thanks so much for your continued reading and support. Will get the epilogue up shortly as well :)

_The dream started much as it always did. The smell of menthol and turpentine and…rotting wood washing over him in dizzying waves and he was trying to breathe in as deeply as possible because it was unearthing the vestiges of blue memory and the hue was thick enough to wet his fingers in and streak down the walls of,_

_the wooden walls of,_

_the wooden train car, blue fingerprints, blue touch, the soft give of skin and warm breath ghosting over his fingers, if he opened his eyes it would shatter so he reached out slowly and carefully and touched,_

_the train car buzzed,_

_he crushed his eyes closed and reached out and felt the memory of blue,_

_the train car buzzed,_

_he reached out and grasped at silky threads unraveling through his fingertips,_

                He groaned and opened his eyes. His phone buzzed one more time on the small table next to his bed and he carded his fingers through his hair then propped himself up on his side and reached over for it.

 **_Steve:_ ** _Hey_

 **_Steve:_ ** _I’m really sorry._

 **_Steve:_ ** _About the other night_

 **_Steve:_ ** _And about yesterday._

 **_Steve:_ ** _I don’t think I am going to do it._

 **_Steve:_ ** _Shoot you’re probably asleep right now I didn’t realize how early it was I’ll stop bothering you just wanted to say hi._

 **_Steve:_ ** _And sorry._

               Bucky rolled his eyes and started typing.

_~~I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have~~_

               “Fuck.”

_No worries._

               He sent the message, then swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat still as a stone, hunched over his knees for a minute watching the digital screen. He refreshed the screen once and then, as if only at that moment realizing what he was doing, he set his phone down roughly on the table and stood up quickly in a huff and shot a glance over to the small alarm clock.

                5:56am

                “God dammit.” There were still over ten hours until the outdoor speech, and to be completely honest, he was **not** going to be missed in the office while every other human being who actually ‘worked’ there was running around, screeching chaotic monologues and trying not to be the one George inevitably blamed some enormous wrong-doing on. He had time. And he knew exactly what he was going to do with it. Bucky rubbed the grainy sleep particles out of his eyes, threw on his jeans and a red henley and grabbed his backpack.

 

*****

 

                The last ten minutes of the forty minute train ride felt like he had been transported out of D.C. and into some lush and beautiful fairy-tale paradise. The urban city sprawl suddenly gave way to densely thick coniferous pines and expansive mountain tops. The metro crawled to a slow stop at the station, and the conductors’ voice rang out through the intercoms:

                “This is the last station stop in the District of Columbia. Everyone still on board please exit the train.”

                Bucky stood up and walked outside on to the platform as the doors opened. He was the only one left in his car, although it looked like there was a younger couple down aways that had also stayed on until the last stop. He shrugged his backpack onto his shoulders and took off down the rickety wooden steps of the station.

                It only took him a few minutes to get to the main drag of the small city. Nothing had changed. It was as though the entire world kept turning and Ellicot City chose to watch from behind closed shutters. It should have changed. It had only been a week but it just should have changed. There was still a small coffee shop on the corner of Main Street—an old building with painted white brick and a faded orange awning—still kids hanging out in front, still young couples sitting in the white metal chairs, laughing and leaning in to each other and almost touching but slightly scared at the hum of electricity between them but thrilled with the spark, they were young and beautiful and nothing could hurt them if they didn’t stray from the paved road, if they only walked to the edge, not too close mind you, they wouldn’t be swallowed up.

                He hopped the brick wall and wandered up the hill. His chest was constricting tightly but not altogether unpleasantly with each breath—and he wandered into the old station and walked the rows of cars alone, not stepping up inside—never stepping up inside, but his fingers caught on stray splintered wood as he dragged them over the memories and tried to conjure up the smell of blue.

 

* * *

            

                The office was complete chaos. There were security guards moving in and about rooms speaking covertly in to their headsets, and interns running every which way with arms full of copied manuscripts and file folders and large travel mugs of coffee. Andrew was sitting at the front desk of the office—Bucky’s desk—and typing maniacally while muttering under his breath. Rebecca made her way to him, stepping lightly over a fallen pile of papers that were scattered over the hardwood floors.

                “Hey! Everything ok Andrew?”

                He spared a glance up at her, brow furrowed in stress, then looked back over at the computer screen for a moment before replying.

                “Have you seen Bucky anywhere?”

                “Oh…uh, not yet this morning I don’t think? Why?”

                Andrew heaved a sigh over the keyboard and threw his head back to look up at the ceiling.

                “Perfect. I gave him a whole bunch of files to input the other day and I had my own copies but misplaced them and now of course he is nowhere and won’t answer his phone and I don’t have even the slightest shred of a clue as to where the hell he put the damn things—“

                “Not to interrupt a perfectly good ranting tangent, but you and Dad _did_ kind of tell him he was basically useless and only here to save face for the campaign… so blaming him for not organizing the work that you specifically ordered him not to do seems a little unfair…”

                Andrew shot her a pained look. “Jeez Bex. Don’t get on my case about it. Take it up with Dad. I know it sucks…” He typed in one more phrase in the computer search engine and held up a hand to her while he waited for the process to conclude.

                _No items match your search._

                “Damn it.” He shot back in the office chair and stood up. “Just…just if you see him, send him my way ok?”

                “Yes. Sir.” She quipped up at him.

                “Bex. Please just be serious. You know how important today is for the campaign—”

                “Of course Andrew,” she interrupted. “Just as important as say…Every. Other. Day.”

                “Just send him my way.”

                She watched him walk purposefully out of the office and lowered herself down into the chair he had just vacated. Andrew was an intense, frequently pompous and often times downright obnoxious human being, but he was her brother and he was really _really_ good at his job. She really shouldn’t prod at him mercilessly. Andrew may have inherited the genetic ability to fatally wound others with words, but he had never used that talent against her. He had always watched out for her, always been there—sometimes to his own detriment. He deserved better.

                She picked up her phone to try and decided to try and give Bucky a call when Steve walked in.

                “Hey! Steve!”

                He looked over at the desk and she smiled. “Hey, have you seen or heard from Bucky at all yet today?”

                He looked flustered. “I uh…I texted him a few times this morning. But I didn’t’ hear anything back. Sorry.”

                “Ugghh. Ok, no worries.”

                He looked up at her and quietly parroted back, “no…worries?”

                “Yes?” She looked up again and really looked him over. He looked terrible. “Hey babe. You look like complete crap. What’s up?”

                He grimaced and walked over to the desk, pulled a chair up to her opposing side and slumped over with his head in his hands. “Nothing really. Just haven’t been sleeping well I guess.”

                “Mmmm, that’s rough,” she pushed call on her cell then held the phone up to her ear with one hand while she reached over with her other hand to place it on top of Steve’s. “Maybe we could take some time off this weekend? After the rally is over…go out to the coast or some—Bucky??”

                Steve’s head shot up and she quickly covered the mouthpiece with her hand and mouthed _sorry_ over at him.

                “Bucky where are you?” She listened for a moment and then spoke again, “hold on, hold on…I am putting you on speaker. Steve’s here, say hi to Steve, Steve, it’s Bucky—”

                She set the phone down on the table between the two of them and Steve stared over at her, a slow flush creeping up his neck from under his shirt. She gave him a small glare and Steve coughed quietly then leaned over and spoke in to the phone,

                “Uh…hi Buck?”

                Crackling static silence.

                Rebecca rubbed at her forehead slowly and spoke again. “Bucky? You still there?”

                _“Yeah. Hi.”_

                “Oh right. Ok. Where the hell are you? Andrew is flipping his shit over here trying to find some random files he apparently delivered to you the other day and the entire office staff are running around crazed and you do realize that we have a giant outdoor rally in…oh…five hours, where you going to show up at all?”

                _“Jesus. Calm down. I’m on my way over. Didn’t realize my job was suddenly so important.”_

His voice was cutting in and out and there was a steady stream of crackle and wind sound coming through the speakers.

                “And how much longer do you think you will be smart ass? And where _are_ you? You sound underwater!”

                _“It doesn’t matter. I’ll be…30 minutes give or take. Tell Andrew,”_

                **_Doors closing. Ellicott City line. Next stop Northridge. Doors closing._**

                The metro conductor’s voice sounded hollow as it echoed through the small speakers of the cellphone. Steve suddenly jolted across from her and looked stricken. He stood up and mouthed over ‘I gotta go Bex…’

                _“Tell Andrew I’ll find him as soon as I get in.”_

                “Wait, Bucky, why are you in Ellicott—Steve! Wait a second,” She was trying to motion for Steve to come back and Bucky was still on the line,

                _“I just needed to clear my head. I’ll be there in 30.”_

                Steve was already halfway out the door and waving at her,

                “Ok, ok, see you soon,”

                She hung up the phone and called out to Steve, but he was already gone.

               

* * *

 

                The National Mall Park was complete chaos when Steve arrived. There were thousands of people pushing forward along the temporary gates that surrounded the area that George Barnes would address the public. Most were excitedly waving signs for Barnes, though Steve spotted a large group of protesters to the right of the mob who were being contained by local law enforcement officers. Within the barricades, there was a sea of interns and office members swarming tables, running with arms full of paper, tapping wildly on tablets, phones, electronic devices—it was as though the mad pandemonium of the small office had merely been transposed onto the freshly mown lawn of the Capitol.

                He looked around and saw Pierce waving animatedly with several of the police officers near the front of the large stage, and saw Bucky—he saw Bucky sitting on the short flight of steps leading up to the platform. He was perched on the second step up, staring off in to space and he looked perfect and polished and pristine in his flawlessly tailored suit with his skinny red tie and he looked like he could almost have been the faultless subject of a Renoir painting but for the sad loneliness that seemed forever etched into his skin.

                Steve swallowed, and reached into the side of his suit coat as he walked over, feeling deep inside the pocket and doing his best to stand tall and smile. He reached the rickety stairs and tapped the metal pillar of the railing with his shoe.

                “Hey.”

                Bucky flinched slightly then looked up, eyes blinking furiously as though he was just waking up—just trying to erase the last vestiges of a bittersweet dream from his recollection.

                “Hey. Steve.” He stood up quickly and glanced around while soothing his suit coat down.

                “No—don’t get up. It’s fine, I just—”

                “I actually have a bunch of things I need to take care of before Dad, uh…George speaks.” He was staring at the ground as he spoke, refusing to look at Steve, and there was a small curl of hair that had fallen just the wrong way out of his otherwise perfectly styled hair and Steve felt this overwhelming urge to step up close—close enough for the vibrations of Bucky’s voice to cause the small hairs on his neck to stand up in anticipation—and push it ever so slightly back in to place,

                the beating of his heart picked up its tempo.

                Bucky still didn’t move so Steve spoke,

                “Ellicott?”

                and then there was a reaction. The smallest stiffening of the shoulders, the raised eyebrows and Bucky looked up at him—looked directly in his eyes,

                “Drop it Steve.”

                The beat went on,

                “Buck,”

                “I said drop it.” And he pushed to go passed but the rhythm was too loud in Steve’s ears to stop, so he reached into his suit pocket and pressed the item tightly into Bucky’s hand.

                “Here.”

                Bucky looked down at the aged carton of Lucky’s in the palm of his hand—fingers closing experimentally around the abused cardboard.

                “What…”

                “It was still there,” Steve spoke, “under that loose floorboard in the car. There are still a couple left in the box. It was still there so I…”

                “You went…” Bucky was opening the carton now and peering into it with a look of disbelief, “you went back there?”

                The beat went on and Steve spoke softly, “it’s all still there Buck. All the memories, all...” he paused for a moment, catching his thoughts, holding them gently on the back of his tongue and tasting them slowly before opening his mouth. “I go back a lot. I sit. And breath. It just feels good to breath there. “

                Bucky was nodding slowly but looking confused and still…lonely, but the beat went on,

                “Look, I…I need to go over to the intern table. I have to talk to Becca still. I’m going to. Tonight. After the rally. Because I’m not going to do it. I don’t know if it is even what she wants…I can’t…if you can just wait,”

                Steve reached out and paused for a moment before placing his hand on top of the carton, on top of Bucky’s palm,

                “Just wait for me.”

                It was rushed, and it tasted sweet, and he couldn’t breathe with the weight of it but the beat went on and he squeezed the palm under his, then snatched his hand back and hurried away.

               

* * *

 

                Bucky could feel the carton of cigarettes burning through the palm of his hand but he couldn’t put them down, couldn’t stop looking,

_“Hey, Buck?”_

_“mmm?”Bucky didn’t look up from the book he was reading._

_“Can I draw you really quick?”_

                He feel the last lonely cigarettes tap against the side of the case as he moved his hand,

                  _They would smoke, and Steve would cough like an old asthmatic, and Bucky would embrace the coursing nicotine like an ancient friend,_

He could feel sweat start to prickle and drip down the back of his neck,

                _and Steve laid his head down on Bucky’s shoulder in that small spot between collarbone and neck where it always fit so perfectly,_

“Hey—Bucky! Can you come help me towards the back for a bit? They have started letting in the masses and they need someone back there directing traffic”

                Bucky quickly pocketed the pack and looked up at Andrew.

                “Yeah, sure.”

                They started walking along the well worn path while throngs of people pushed themselves forward towards the stage—waves of bodies cascading over the grass, cheering and yelling and noise,

                “Hey—sorry you couldn’t find me before. Bex said you were looking.”

                Andrew just looked passed him, watching the crowd as they walked. “It’s fine. I was worked up over nothing. I…I just get like that when I…”

                Bucky grinned over at him. “You think?”

                Andrew shouldered in to him sending Bucky tripping over his feet to the left. “Jesus Andrew! Watch the suit!” He trudged back over smoothing out his hair while Andrew watched him with a smirk.

                “Sorry kid—got to keep you in your place somehow.”

                “Yeah, well you can be the one to pay the dry-cleaning bill—”

                The sudden tapping on a mic silenced him and Bucky shot a look back over his shoulder as George and Winifred made their way onto the stage while they were announced to the public. A wild roar of the crowd rang explosively through the air.

                “Aren’t they starting a little early?”

                Andrew looked over at him and pointed to his ears. “Huh?”

                Bucky sighed then tried again louder. “Aren’t they starting this a little early?” He pointed to his watch for clarification. Andrew nodded and looked towards the back.

                “Pierce probably gave them the go ahead.”

                Bucky looked over and saw Pierce standing there speaking in the com, then he looked around towards the stage and saw several other security guards nodding along.

                “Oh” he shouted. “Just seems—”

                There was a sudden commotion by the front and he could still hear screaming, but it seemed like a different kind of screaming, like a horrid kind of screaming and he saw his father grab his mother and he couldn’t make sense of their sudden embrace, he couldn’t make sense of the screaming and the running and then the shots reached his ears,

                they were loud

                and they were screaming

                and the beat went on

                he tried to move but suddenly Andrew was grabbing him and throwing him down and he could feel the hard dirt underneath him and Andrew was sure as shit going to be paying the dry cleaning now but the shots wouldn’t stop

                they were piercing

                he was moving, he was trying to move and Andrew was yelling and it was too much over all the screaming, but Andrew was yelling,

                “stay down, get down, get DOWN, please, oh please, oh please,”

                 and some of that wasn’t Andrew some of that was Bucky,

                “Oh shit, oh please, oh please, STEVE,”

                he was scrambling out of Andrew’s grip and he was running but the shots wouldn’t stop and the beat went on but the tempo was increasing,

                they were stabbing,

                He had to get to Steve, he had to get to Becca where was Becca he hadn’t even seen her today she had to be near the front, Steve was near the front, he could see his father on the stage and he was still covering his mother but they weren’t moving and he could smell an awful scent in the air of burning and fear and his eyes were watering, his heart was pounding, there was screaming and he didn’t know what to do,

               he didn’t know what to do,

               The beat _goes_ on

               He was shoving through masses of people, people running, people curled up on the ground, the grass was green and they were on top of it and he could hear Steve’s name being called out, passed around, moving in rhythm with his heart but it was him, it was him screaming Steve and it should be Becca because he couldn’t find her, but it was Steve, it was always Steve,

               the grass was green and the beat goes on,

               the shots were still ringing and he could see them now standing at the front of the crowd, they were human, they were normal people and they had red ‘Barnes for President’ shirts and there were so many of them or maybe there were just three but possibly dozens and it was hard to see anything because there was smoke but he could see his father on the stage and he could see the green grass but he couldn’t see Steve and there were still people standing and there were still people praying and the intern table was overturned and there were people sobbing underneath it while the beat goes on,

                He didn’t know what to do because his eyes were watering and the acrid smell of smoke was potent, enough to sear through flesh and blood and bone and there was still no Steve, but there were pearls,

_“Just wait for me.”_

                 And the grass was red but there was still no Steve

                 and the beat goes on,

                 and the beat goes on

                 and on


	11. Epilogue

Nicole checked the clock again. It seemed to have stopped, frozen in time. She sighed. Night shifts were the absolute worst. The corridors of the ICU ward were completely empty and dark—only the occasional flickering florescent bulb lighting the way for the stray nurse to move about. She looked back at her screen rereading her notes from earlier. It seemed like there would be no hope for Rogers, Steven Grant—age 22. It was truly terrible, and sadly, this wasn’t even the first mass shooting she had even seen. There was absolutely something wrong with this country; something fundamentally wrong. She could see into the hospital room through a small window on her left. All was quiet. Rogers, Steven Grant was laying in the large hospital bed—hooked up to dozens of machines all active and slowly whirring; keeping him breathing. She could see the faint shape of the man sitting next to him—completely passed out at this point, though still tightly gripping the cold, inert hand from beneath the sheets. She watched him for a moment, watched his chest slowly rise and fall in the slow andante of deep sleep.

Her computer started flashing as the alarm on the heart monitor suddenly started to squeal in agony. She looked at the screen in disbelief.

“holy shit,” she murmured under her breath.

Out of sheer habit she managed to quickly press the call button, then throw the door open to the room.

 

* * *

 

_The dream started much as it always did. He couldn’t move; he was suffocating under the sheer oppressive weight of the charcoal dust. It was coating his mouth, his airways, he couldn’t open his eyes—they were varnished tightly in charcoal. He could sense the smallest glimmer of light—could scent it on the air and it smelled like charcoal, but it giggled and flitted away so he gave chase, but his legs couldn’t move they were frozen in blocks of thick black grime. He heard the voice of the willow-the-wisp calling out, further down the black confines of his mind,_

_‘til the end…’_

_‘til the end of…’_

_‘the line…’_

_‘the line…’_

_‘the line…’_

_He opened his mouth to scream and it filled with the dirt and much and grime of thousands of years of mistakes and it was only a dream, of course it was only a dream, so all he had to do was cough and it melted away; all he had to do was breathe in gold and it all melted away so he did and his eyes fluttered open._

There was beeping.

There was hospital beeping,

and there was white,

and there was the faint smell of cigarettes and the incredible lightness of being that came with the acceptance of gold and _he_ was there, but he could smell him, he had already tasted him on the air so he pushed the word out from swollen lips,

“Buck.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We made it! Thank you so much for sticking with me through all of this. I started writing this story back in January after suffering a miscarriage. I was pretty down and depressed and decided to get back in to writing to try to help. I wrote constantly for a while, and my initial plot for this story was even darker and more depressing than it is now! I had another miscarriage in March while working on this and once again things got really down and horrible. In the first draft notes, just about everyone but Bucky died at the end including Steve!
> 
> I know this particular story is pretty angst filled and depressing, and pretty much Bucky suffers the entire time. I swear I don't always write like this. It just happened to be what I needed at the time. I really truly appreciate all of your continued comments, kudos, follows, anything and everything. This is my first fully completed long fic and I am really excited it gets to be a part of the Big Bang. 
> 
> Thank you to my amazingly wonderful husband for putting up with me while I blatantly ignored him night after night to write. He will never actually read this (thank god) but he is still fantastic for reserving his judgement ;)
> 
> Love to you all and so much love to my amazing beta [Lasenby_Heathcote](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Lasenby_Heathcote/works) and amazing artist [WilliamKaplan](http://williamkaplan.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Seriously. Come back and check up on this a bunch because I am going to start adding her AWESOME artwork into each chapter!

**Author's Note:**

> If anyone is interested, this entire fic was inspired by this song:
> 
>  
> 
> [Kaleo Can't Go On Without You](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gpG9QRV9gTk)
> 
>  
> 
> Definitely worth a listen :)
> 
> Come follow me on [Tumblr](http://iamagentcoop.tumblr.com/)


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